THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 
MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


CoVtoru       Wo.Ua 


SHIP  AND  SHORE: 


LEAVES  FROM  THE  JOURNAL  OF  A  CRUISE 


TO  THE 


LEVANT. 


BY  AN  OFFICER  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES*  NAVY. 


NEW-YORK: 

PUBLISHED  BY  LEAVITT,  LORD  &  CO., 

180  Broadway; 

AND  SOLD  BY  THE  PRINCIPAL  BOOKSELLERS  THROUGHOUT 
THE  UNITED    STATES. 

1835. 


Entered  according  lo  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835,  by  LEA- 
VITT,  LOUD  &  Co.,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the 
Southern  District  of  New-York. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS. 


TO   MRS.    E.   D.    READ, 

As  a  slight  acknowledgment  of  the  pleasures  which 
her  society  afforded  the  author,  through  most  of  the 
scenes  sketched  in  the  following  pages,  this  unpretend 
ing  volume,  written  merely  as  a  pastime — as  a  refuge 
from  the  monotony  of  a  life  at  sea — is  now  inscribed, 
with  many  sentiments  of  respect  and  affection. 


ERRATA. 


For  the  correction  of  all  errors,  save  those  of  the  type-case,  the 
reader  is  respectfully  referred  to  the  the  ship's  log-book,  deposited  in 
the  Navy  Department  at  Washington,  under  the  charge  of  a  Secre 
tary,  who  never  refuses  what  is  right,  or  grants  what  is  wrong. 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE 9 

CHAPTER  1 13 

The  Light- house— Spirit  of  Memory— Presentiment — Loss  of 
Companions — Ship  Discipline — Ladies  on  board  a  Man-of-War — 
Ward-Room  Officers— Midshipmen— Traits  of  a  Sailor— The  Set 
ting  Sun — Funeral  at  Sea. 

CHAPTER  II 29 

First  sight  of  Land — Peak  of  Pico— Terceira— City  of  Angra — 
Visit  to  the  shore — Appearance  of  the  Inhabitants— Cathedral — 
Vespers — Convent — Nuns— Gardens — Singular  Monument — Sha 
ving  the  Hog— A  Gale. 

CHAPTER  III 41 

Madeira— First  Appearance— Effect  of  Sunset— Ride  into  the  In^ 
terior— Ponies— Burroqueros— Deep  Ravines— Peasantry — A  Ma- 
deiran  Beauty — An  English  Lady— Dinner  and  Dancing. 

CHAPTER  IV 51 

Madeira  continued— Excursion — Villa  of  an  English  Bachelor — 
Tragical  death  of  George  Canning— Wild  Ravine— Singular  Wa 
ter-Fall-Lady  of  the  Mount—  Superstition— The  dying  Mother's 
Request— Star  of  Bethlehem. 

CHAPTER  V 60 

Madeira  continued— Visit  to  the  Convent  of  Santa  Clara — Intro 
duction  to  a  beautiful  Nun — Her  Involuntary  Confinement — Per 
sonal  Attractions— Mental  Accomplishments — Proposed  Scheme 
of  Escape. 

V 


O  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VI 69 

A  Singular  Marriage— Cathedral— Clergy— Weighing  a  Protest 
ant—The  proscribed  Hidalgo— Camancha  Villa— Its  Lady— The 
Ribeiro — A  Sleeping  Sentinel — Mystery  of  Sleep. 

CHAPTER  VII 78 

Madeira  continued — Morning — Matins  of  Maria— Ride  to  the 
Curral— Stupendous  Scenery— Quiet  Hamlet— Force  of  Habit- 
Saint's  Day— Homage  of  Gun-Powder — Recollections  of  Home 
—Twilight— The  Vesper-Bell. 

CHAPTER  VIII 68 

Sketches  of  Madeira — Physical  Features — Wines — Climate — 
City  of  Funchal — Priests — Society— Morals — Peasantry— Mer 
chants— Political  Opinions — Habits  of  the  Ladies — Courtships — 
Our  Parting  and  Farewell. 

CHAPTER  IX 100 

Passage  from  Madeira  to  Lisbon— Sea-sickness  as  a  Purgatorial 
State— Situation  of  a  Member  of  Congress  and  Officer  of  the 
Navy  compared — Rock  of  Lisbon — Pilot — Tagus — Cheering — 
Rockets— Don  Miguel. 

CHAPTER  X 109 

Lisbon— Cabriolets — Postillion — Madam  Julia's  Hotel — A  Parti 
san  Merchant— Alcantra  Aqueduct — Church  of  St.  Roque — Mo 
saics— Queen  Maria  First— Church  of  St.  Domingo— Statue  of 
King  Joseph— The  Earthquake— Inquisition. 

CHAPTER  XI 124 

Excursion  to  Cintra — Scenery— Marialva  Villa — Peter's  Prison — 
Penha  Convent— Royal  Palace— Visit  to  Mafra  Castle- -Its  Ex 
tent—Richness—Singular  Origin— Return  to  Lisbon. 

CHAPTER  XII 137 

Lisbon— Street— Dogs— Don  Miguel— Habits  of  the  Females- 
Friars  and  Monks— Perils  of  Night-Walking— Impositions  on 
Strangers — A  blind  Musician — Political  Disasters. 

CHAPTER  XIII 149 

Passage  from  Lisbon  to  Gibralter— Diversions  of  the  Sailor— 
His  tact  at  telling  Stories— Love  of  the  Song— Fondness  for  Dan 
cing — Unhappy  Propensities— Duty  of  the  Government. 


CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER  XIV 157 

Gibralter — A  befitting  emblem  of  British  Power— Romance  of  its 
History— Fortifications— Troops— Motley  Population— Summit  of 
the  Rock — St.  Michel's  Cave — The  Five  Hundred — Monboddo's 
Originals— Pleasure  Party — Music  and  a  Mermaid. 

CHAPTER  XV 170 

Malaga— Coming  to  Anchor — Cathedral — Tomb  of  Moliana — 
Fiddles  and  Organs  in  Churches — Castle  of  the  Moors — Hours  of 
a  Malaguena— Traits  of  a  singular  Bandit — A  Spanish  Lady — 
Twilight  and  the  Promenade — A  Funeral. 

CHAPTER  XVI 188 

Passage  from  Malaga  to  Mahon — Tedious  Calms— Relieving  In 
cidents — Visit  of  a  Bird — Capture  of  an  ominous  Shark— Intru 
sions  of  a  Ghost — Unfair  taking  off  of  a  Black  Cat — Petted 
Hedgehog— Morgan's  Spectre  at  Niagara. 

CHAPTER  XVII 197 

Mahon— Harbor — Fort  St.  Philip— Admiral  Byng — Lazaretto— 
Navy-Yard — Habits  of  the  Mahonees — Effects  of  a  certain  Vice 
on  Man— Grand  Organ — Sailors  on  Shore — Jack  and  the  Opera- 
Entertainments. 

CHAPTER  XVIII 2112 

Passage  from  Mahon  to  Naples — Life  at  Sea— Chest  of  a  Sailor — 
Power  of  a  Poet — Track  of  the  Ship— Naples  from  the  Harbor — 
Unreasonable  Quarantine— Grievious  Disappointment— Prema 
ture  Departure. 

CHAPTER  XIX 223 

Passage  from  Naples  to  Messina — Volcano  of  Stromboli— Dead 
Calms — Utility  of  Whales — Pastimes  in  Calms — Faro  di  Messina 
— Charibdis  and  Scylla — Ancient  Whirlpool— Curiosities  of  the 
Sea— Messina  from  the  Strait. 

CHAPTER  XX 233 

Excursion  to  Mount  Etna— Sleeping  in  a  Corn-field— Incidents 
of  the  Ascent — Storm  at  Night — View  from  the  Summit — De 
scent—Catania — Gaiety  of  the  Living  above  the  Dead — Museum 
of  the  Prince  of  Biscari— Franciscan  Monk. 


8  C  ONTENT  S. 

CHAPTER  XXI 246 

Passage  from  Messina  to  Milo— Marat  and  Ney— Tides  of  the 
Strait — Island  of  Candia— Island  of  Cerigo — Aspect  of  Milo— 
Historic  Incidents— Greek  Pilot— Medicinal  Springs— Natural 
Grottoes— Ancient  Tombs. 

CHAPTER  XXII 256 

Town  of  Milo— Steepness  of  the  Streets — Advice  to  Distillers — 
Statue  of  Venus — View  from  the  Town — Greek  Wedding — 
Dress  and  Person  of  the  Bride— Fickleness  of  Fashions  in  Dress  — 
Anecdote  of  Franklin. 

CHAPTER  XXIII 268 

Passage  from  Milo  to  Smyrna— Cape  Colonna — Temple  of  Mi 
nerva—Profession  of  Pirates — Island  of  Ipsara — Aspect  of  Scio — 
Massacre  of  the  Inhabitants— Conduct  of  the  Allies — Gulf  of 
Smyrna — Traits  of  the  Sailor. 

CHAPTER  XXIV 282 

Smyrna — Its  Seamen — Its  Motley  Population— The  Tartar  Janis- 
ary — Modern  Warfare — Encounters  in  threading  the  Streets — 
-  Fruit  Market — Bazars — Greek  Girls — Turkish  Burial-ground — 
The  Child  unacquainted  with  Death. 

CHAPTER  XXV 295 

Smyrna  continued — Religious  Sects — Visit  to  Governor — His  Pa- 
ace — Pipes — Horses — Troops — Coffee-house    Scene — Prayers   of 
-  the  Mussulmen— Martyrdom   of  Polycarp— Birth-place  of  Ho 
mer—Parting  with  the  Reader. 


PREFACE. 


IN  defiance  of  a  profound  maxim  of  my  distant  rela- 
tive — I  say  distant,  because  he  was  so  far  removed  from 
me  on  the  genealogical  tree  that  even  a  Yankee  pedlar  in 
the  remote  part  of  the  South  would  not,  upon  the  force  of 
such  a  relationship,  put  up  his  horse  and  himself  for 
more  than  six  weeks,  and  that  must  place  him  on  a  very 
extreme  twig,  perhaps  even  its  shadow. — By  the  way — 
it  is  a  little  singular  that  these  fellows  of  the  wooden  nut 
meg  should  always  know  where  to  find  a  market  for  their 
nuts  and  notions. — But  as  I  was  saying — in  defiance  of  a 
profound  maxim  of  my  distant  relative — what  a  world  of 
tender  thoughts  and  emotions  spring  up  in  that  one  word 
relative ! — what  beings  step  from  the  magic  of  its  circle : — 
uncles  not  a  few,  aunts  without  number,  and  cousins  a 
.whole  ship  load — all  taking  a  warm  interest  in  you  if  rich, 
a  pride  in  you  if  learned  or  politically  great,  and  never 
deserting  you  unless  you  become  poor — blessings  on  their 
sweet  hearts  ! — Without  them  what  would  a  man  be,  or 
rather,  what  would  the  world  be  to  him? — A  garden  with* 


10  PREFACE. 

out  a  flower,  a  grove  without  a  bird,  an  evening  sky  with 
out  one  lovely  star. — His  feelings  would  break  over  his 
desolate  heart  like  a  sunless  ocean  surging  over  a  dead 
world. — But  as  I  was  saying — in  defiance  of  a  profound 
maxim  of  my  distant  relative,  the  author  of — that  word 
author  ! — it  never  had  such  a  fearful  meaning  to  me  be 
fore. — It  may  be  my  imagination,  but  it  seems  like  a  gar 
ment  lined  with  sharp  hatchel-teeth  to  be  wrapped  around 
my  naked  form. — It  so  agitates  my  whole  system,  that  my 
poor  bedstead  gets  into  such  a  shake  every  night,  as  to 
take  quite  all  the  next  day  for  it  to  become  tranquil,  and 
even  then  the  tester  trembles  like  an  aspen  leaf,  or  a 
pigeon,  in  a  thunder-storm. — To  see  others  become  au 
thors — to  see  them  tried,  condemned  and  executed,  is 
comparatively  nothing ;  but  to  be  put  to  the  bar  your 
self — to  hear  your  own  sentence — to  see  the  noose  tied 
for  your  own  neck,  and  to  know  that  among  the  thou 
sands  who  are  gathering  to  witness  your  swinging  fidgets, 
not  one  heart  will  throb  with  pity ; — it  is  this  which  so 
agitates  and  confounds  me ! — But  as  I  was  saying — in  de 
fiance  of  a  profound  maxim  of  my  distant  relative,  the  au 
thor  of  Lacon — that  is  a  book  which  only  the  wise  will 
read,  and  only  the  profound  can  comprehend, — it  is  an  in 
tellectual  mine,  where  every  thought  is  a  diamond  of  the 
keenest  edge,  and  most  brilliant  ray,  and  where  giants 


PREFACE.  11 

may  work  with  their  pick- axes  and  still  leave  it  unexplor 
ed  ;  and  yet  he  who  created  this  mine  had  nothing  about  him 
in  keeping  with  it — no  consistency  in  morals  or  money. — 
He  was  the  most  singular  of  men — dining  on  a  herring,  and 
keeping  the  most  splendid. coach  in  London — wearing  a 
hat  soiled  and  rent  with  years,  and  trowsers  that  betrayed 
at  the  bottoms  of  their  legs  the  gnawing  despair  of  some 
famishing  rat,  and  carrying  at  the  same  time  in  the  top  of 
his  snuff-box  a  diamond  that  was  itself  an  independent 
fortune, — preaching  a  part  of  the  year  to  his  English  pa 
rishioners,  and  gambling  out  the  rest  in  the  French  me 
tropolis. — But  as  I  was  saying — in  defiance  of  a  profound 
maxim  of  my  distant  relative  the  author  of  Lacon — who 
I  am  sorry  to  say  committed  suicide — committed  it  too  af 
ter  having  penned  against  the  act  an  aphorism  that  might 
well  have  fallen  from  the  lips  of  an  angel ; — an  apho 
rism  numbered  in  his  manuscripts  C  C  C,  which  ex 
press  not  only  its  numerical  relation,  but  the  initials  of 
his  own  name,  as  if  he  had  unknowingly  addressed  it  to 
himself. — If  there  be  not  something  more  than  mere 
coincidence  in  this,  then  there  is  no  truth  in  my  grand 
mother's  manual  on  augeries. — And  yet  he  committed  the 
act; — but  such  is  ever  the  inconsistency  of  one  who  has 
broken  the  balance-wheel  in  his  moral  nature. — He  is  like  a 
ship,  that  has  lost  her  helm — with  which  the  winds  for  a 


12  PREFACE. 

time  disport,  then  dash  it  on  the  rocks  ! — But  as  I  was  say 
ing — in  defiance  of  a  profound  maxim  of  my  distant  rela 
tive,  the  author  of  Lacon,- which  says there  !  I  have 

forgotten  now  what  it  says — this  is  a  hard  case — for  I  was 
just  making  port — all  ready  to  let  go  anchor — arid  I  am 
now  out  at  sea  again  in  a  fog — this  dirty,  thick  weather 
always  comes  on  as  you  near  a  coast — it  has  been  the 
cause  of  more  shipwrecks  than  all  the  tempests  put  to 
gether. — Most  people  think  the  nearer  the  shore  the  safer 
the  ship — directly  the  reverse — a  whale  is  never  stranded 
at  sea,  nor  is  a  ship — unless  an  island  comes  bobbing  up 
out  of  the  water  like  Venus — a  debut  which  I  think  was 
in  extremely  bad  taste. — But  the  fog  begins  to  break 
away — and  now,  as  I  was  saying,  in  defiance  of  a  pro 
found  maxim  of  my  distant  relative,  the  author  of  Lacon, 
which  says, — "  a  writer  who  cannot  throw  fire  into  his 
works  ought  to  throw  his  works  into  the  fire" — I  publish 
this  book — rather  I  allow  it  to  escape. 

Go,  little  book,  I  will  not  burn  thee, 
Wander  at  will  the  country  o'er, 
And  tell  to  all  who  do  not  spurn  thee, 
Thy  simple  tale  of  Ship  and  Shore. 

AUTHOR. 
BOSTON,  Aug.  1835. 


SHIP  AND  SHORE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

The  Light  house— Spirit  of  Memory— Presentiment— Loss  of  Com 
panions — Ship  Discipline — Ladies  on  board  a  Man-of- War — Ward- 
Room  Officers— Midshipmen— Traits  of  a  Sailor— The  Setting 
Sun — Funeral  at  Sea. 

IT  is  now  seven  days  since  we  weighed  anchor 
in  Hampton  Roads,  and  took  our  parting  leave  of 
the  land.  The  last  object  that  vanished  from  my 
steadfast  eye  was  the  old  Light  House  on  Cape 
Henry.  I  watched  that  as  it  sunk  slowly  in  the 
horizon,  and  felt,  when  it  was  gone,  as  one  that  has 
parted  with  a  venerable,  attached  friend.  Never  be 
fore  did  a  light  house  appear  to  me  an  object  of  such 
beauty,  fidelity  and  affectionate  regard.  It  seemed 
as  if  it  had  come  forth  from  the  thousand  objects  of 
the  heart's  yearning  remembrances,  to  take  its  posi 
tion  on  that  promontory,  where  it  might  look  its  last 
farewell,  and  express  its  kindest  wishes. 

During  the  seven  days  that  we  have  been  at  sea, 
2 


14  SPIRIT  OF  MEMORY. 

I  have  lived  but  in  the  past.  That  segment  of 
life's  poor  circle  through  which  I  have  gone  has 
sprung  from  its  grave,  bringing  with  it  each  inci 
dent  of  pleasure  and  sorrow,  each  object  of  pursuing 
hope,  and  lingering  endearment.  How  mysterious 
is  the  spirit  of  memory — how  painfully  true  to  the 
objects  of  its  trust — how  quick  and  vital  over  the 
relics  of  joys  that  have  fled — friendships  that  have 
ceased — errors  that  have  been  wept !  How  in 
tensely  it  concentrates  into  a  point,  years  of  wisdom 
or  weakness,  pleasure  or  pain — pouring  through  the 
soul,  in  an  unbroken  current,  the  mingled  sensations 
that  have  blessed  or  blighted  its  previous  existence  ! 
The  ocean  is  its  empire.  I  should  not  envy  a  guilty 
man  his  repose,  who  should  here  seek  an  escape  from 
the  deserts  and  the  haunting  remembrance  of  his 
crimes.  Every  wave  in  this  vast  solitude  would 
speak  to  him  as  from  eternity,  and  every  dark  cloud 
would  bear  in  its  folds  a  message  of  wildest  thunder. 
If  there  be  a  cavern  in  hell,  where  anguish  is 
without  alleviation,  it  must  be  that  where  a  guilty 
spirit  surfers  in  solitude. 

I  am  not  a  believer  in  supernatural  intimations, 
yet  the  presentiment  that  I  am  never  to  retrace  my 
steps,  that  I  shall  never  see  again  the  cherished  be 
ings  that  encircle  the  hearth  of  my  home  clings  to 
my  heart  with  a  dark  and  desperate  pertinacity. 
You  may  smile  at  this  if  you  will,  and  expose  its 
want  of  philosophy,  but  it  is  proof  against  all  argu- 


PRESENTIMENT.  15 

merit  and  ridicule.  It  is  not  the  effect  of  fear,  for 
this  is  not  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  at  sea,  and 
my  confidence  in  the  power  and  capacity  of  a  ship  to 
triumph  over  the  conflicting  elements,  has  increased 
with  every  day's  experience  ;  nor  is  it  from  any  ap 
prehensions  connected  with  those  diseases  which 
frequently  scourge  the  places  which  we  are  to  visit, 
for  I  have  been  in  those  putrid  ports  and  cities  where 
one  of  the  most  familiar  sights  is  the  black  hearse 
rumbling  on  its  dismal  errand.  Nor  is  it  to  be 
traced  to  any  fearful  inferences  from  an  extreme 
feebleness  of  constitution,  for  this  very  debility  is 
frequently  the  best  shield  against  malignant  disease. 
The  sturdy  oak  breaks  before  the  tempest,  but  the 
pliant  sapling  yields,  and  when  the  storm  has  passed 
over  erects  itself.  Nor  is  this  gloomy  presentiment 
ascribable  to  that  melancholy  mood  of  mind  which 
darkly  predicts  ills,  that  are  never  to  be  experienced, 
nor  to  that  morbid  sentimentality  which  affects  sor 
rows,  that  are  never  felt.  It  is  an  undefined,  invo 
luntary  and  inexplicable  conviction  which  reason 
did  not  induce,  and  which  reason  cannot  force  away. 
Dr.  Johnson  believed  in  ghosts,  and  would  not  cross 
his  threshhold  left  foot  first ;  and  no  arguments, 
however  profound  and  ingenious,  could  have  con 
vinced  that  sagacious  reasoner  that  he  was  unphilo- 
sophical,  or  superstitious.  The  hare  is  not  timid 
that  trembles  where  the  lion  shakes. 


16  LIFE  AT  SEA. 

Had  any  one  told  me  a  few  years  since  that  I 
was  to  become  a  sailor,  that  I  should  at  this  time  be 
on  board  a  man-of-war,  bound  to  the  Mediterranean, 
I  should  have  regarded  the  prediction  with  incredu 
lous  amazement.  But 

"  How  little  do  we  know,  that  which  we  are, 
How  less,  what  we  may  be." 

Time  and  the  force  of  circumstances  work  changes 
upon  us  of  which  we  little  dream.  The  very  habits 
which  fitted  me  for  the  contemplative  quietude  of 
the  closet,  by  undermining  my  health,  have  driven 
me  into  an  opposite  extreme ;  for  there  is  no  situa 
tion  where  every  element  is  more  stirring  and  rest 
less  than  on  board  an  armed  ship.  It  would  seem 
as  if  the  principles  of  a  perpetual  motion  had  found 
a  favorite  lodgment  in  every  particle  of  which  this 
vast  floating  fabric  is  composed.  There  is  not  a 
spar,  or  plank,  or  rope,  that  does  not  appear  to  have 
caught  this  spirit  of  uneasiness.  Much  more  the 
jovial  tar,  whose  home  is  on  the  mountain  wave, 
who  loves  the  quick  breeze,  and  the  rapid  sea,  and 
who  regards  a  life  free  from  these  excitements  as  a 
state  of  listlessness  and  inactivity  unbecoming  a 
breathing  man. 

I  am  not  quite  a  stranger  to  the  peculiarities  of 
my  present  condition.  A  former  cruise  in  another 
quarter  has  familiarised  me  in  some  measure  to  the 
strange  habitudes  of  nautical  life.  Alas  !  I  can 


LOSS  OF  COMPANIONS.  17 

never  think  of  that  cruise  without  grief.  We  left 
there  three  of  our  dearest  companions,  who  will  re 
turn  no  more  !  They  were  in  the  spring-time  of 
life,  full  of  hope,  enterprise,  and  lofty  resolutions,  but 
they  have  gone  down  to  the  silence  and  dreamless 
sleep  of  the  grave.  Their  generous  purposes  and 
goodly  promise  have  all  perished  in  the  bud.  How 
often  has  the  mother,  in  the  depth  of  her  anguish, 
doubted  the  melancholy  tale,  and  how  has  the  little 
sister,  unacquainted  with  death,  still  expected  her 
brother's  return.  Spring  shall  return  with  its  buds 
of  promise,  summer  with  its  purpling  fruits,  autumn 
with  its  golden  harvest,  but  these  come  not  again  ; 
there  is  no  returning  pathway  through  the  grave. 

The  journal  which  I  have  now  commenced, 
and  which  I  intend  to  continue  during  the  cruise, 
shall  be  confined  mainly  to  my  first  and  freshest 
impressions.  I  will  cast  into  it  the  bright,  the 
mournful,  the  deep  or  transcient  feelings,  which  the 
different  incidents  or  objects  encountered  may 
awaken.  There  is  only  one  subject  upon  which  I 
shall  reserve  myself,  and  that  is  the  government, 
the  discipline  of  the  ship.  The  moral  and  political 
mechanism  of  a  floating  community  like  this  is  too 
peculiar,  too  intricate  and  complicated  for  hasty 
opinion,  and  I  shall  therefore  wait  the  results  of  the 
fullest  experience. 

Few  situations  involve  a  more  perplexing  respon 
sibility  or  require  a  higher  combination  of  rare 
2* 


18  SHIP  DISCIPLINE. 

talent,  than  that  of  the  commander  of  a  national 
ship.  To  be  popular  and  at  the  same  time  efficient, 
he  must  be  able  to  enforce  a  most  strict  and  rigid 
discipline,  without  giving  to  it  that  cast  of  unfeeling 
severity,  to  which  the  despotical  nature  of  a  ship's 
government  is  extremely  liable.  He  must  be  open 
and  undisguised,  and  express  even  his  sentiments  of 
disapprobation  with  a  freedom  and  frankness,  which 
may  lead  the  subordinate  officer  to  the  instantaneous 
conviction  that  there  are  no  suppressed  feelings  of  bit 
terness,  which  may,  in  an  unexpected  hour,  reveal 
their  nourished  and  terrific  strength.  This  plain  and 
honest  dealing  is  infinitely  preferable  to  a  heartless 
hypocrisy  of  manner ;  it  relieves  all  around  iisom 
those  disquieting  suspicions  which  duplicity  never 
fails  to  excite  ;  and  where  it  is  united  with  a  gene 
rous  disposition,  a  well  informed  mind,  and  a  digni 
fied  demeanor,  cannot  fail  to  secure  affection  and 
respect. 

As  my  opinions  will  undoubtedly,  hereafter,  be 
quoted  as  fundamental  law  on  all  questions  affecting 
the  interests  and  ettiquette  of  the  service,  there  is 
another  subject  on  which  I  must  be  for  the  present 
discreetly  reserved  ; — this  involves  the  expediency 
and  propriety  of  permitting  us  to  take  out  our  ladies 
on  board  our  public  ships.  It  will  appear,  as  I  am 
aware,  ungallant  to  hesitate  over  an  immediate  and 
unqualified  approbation  of  this  license,  but  as  my 
decision  is  to  strike  through  all  future  usage  in  the 


THE  LADIES.  19 

service,  and  as  its  condemnatory  features  might  be 
ascribed  to  the  fact  of  my  not  having  any  one  to 
take  out,  were  the  privilege  granted,  I  shall  withhold 
it  till  events  may  place  it  beyond  the  reach  of  such 
a  cynical  construction. 

Yet,  could  any  one  disposed  to  arraign  this  mea 
sure,  have  seen  the  quantity  of  letters  that  went  back 
by  the  return  boat  of  the  pilot,  and  above  all, could  he 
have  glanced  into  the  contents  of  those  epistles,  and 
marked  the  tears  and  passionate  fervors  that  min 
gled  there,  like  rain  and  lightning  in  a  summer's 
cloud,  he  would  have  exclaimed  in  relenting  tender 
ness,  let  the  cherished  beings  of  their  bosom  go  with 
them !  separate  not,  by  a  wide  ocean,  hearts  so  in 
tensely  united, — beings  so  entirely  formed  for  one 
hearth  and  home !  Even  Jack  sent  back  the  evi 
dence  of  his  truth  ;  his  scarcely  legible  scrawl  may 
have  given  a  fresh  and  bleeding  life  to  affections, 
not  the  less  deep  on  account  of  a  simple,  rude  exte 
rior.  The  vigor  of  the  bow  depends  not  on  the 
beauty  of  its  polish. 

There  is  another  subject  upon  which  I  must  be 
a  little  reserved ; — this  touches  the  character  of  my 
immediate  companions,  the  officers  of  the  ward 
room.  We  present,  perhaps,  in  our  assembled  capa 
city,  as  great  a  variety  of  intellectual,  moral  and 
social  habit,  as  any  group  of  the  same  size,  ever  yet 
convened  on  flood  or  field.  There  is  no  shape, 
which  thought,  feeling,  or  association  ever  assumed, 


20  WARD-ROOM  OFFICERS. 

that  may  not  here  find  a  ready,  unbroken  mould. 
We  have  every  thing  from  the  silent  operations  of  a 
mind  that  expresses  its  action  only  in  its  priceless 
gifts,  to  the  tumultuous  agonies  of  an  imagination 
that  raises  a  tornado  to  rock  a  rose  bud,  and  rolls 
the  globe  over  to  crush  a  flea.  We  have  the  officer 
who  walks  the  deck  as  if  he  were  to  be  heard  in 
whispers  and  obeyed  in  silence,  and  the  one  that 
gives  his  slightest  order  in  a  trumpet  voice  that  might 
almost  endanger  the  sleep  of  the  dead.  We  have  the 
ever  cheerful  and  contented  being,  who  would  talk 
encouragingly  on  a  famishing  wreck,  and  the  inve 
terate  complainer,  who  would  grumble  amid  the 
mellow  profusions  of  a  paradise.  We  have  the  man 
of  method  who  sleeps,  dreams,  and  wakes  by  rule, 
and  the  unsystematized  being  who  would  lose,  were  it 
possible,  his  conscious  identity  ;  and  who  will  pro 
bably  be  found  at  the  great  resurrection  coming  out 
of  the  grave  of  some  other  person. 

We  have  a  caterer  who  would  purchase  an  ox 
for  the  sake  of  a  sirloin,  and  a  steward  who  would 
purchase  an  egg,  were  it  possible,  without  the  ex 
pense  of  the  shell.  We  have  a  sailing-master  who 
is  seldom  wrong  when  he  conjectures,  and  as  rarely 
right  when  he  calculates;  we  have  a  commissary 
who  would  shoulder  an  atlas  of  real  responsibility, 
and  protest  against  an  ant-hill  of  petty  inconve 
nience  ;  we  have  a  surgeon  who  would  kneel  in 
worship  of  the  beauty,  harmony,  and  matchless 


MIDSHIPMEN.  21 

grace  of  the  human  form,  and  then  dissect  a  Cythe- 
ran  venus  to  trace  the  path  of  an  imaginary  muscle; 
we  have  a  marine  officer  full  of  professional  pride 
and  ability,  but  whose  troops  have  never  been 
paralleled  since  Jack  FalstafF  mustered  his  men ; 
we  have  a  chaplain  who  vehemently  urges  us  on 
like  an  invading  army  towards  heaven,  but  stays 
behind  himself,  as  he  says,  to  pick  up  the  stragglers ; 
and  we  have  over  all  a  commander  who  inspires 
the  humblest  with  self-respect,  but  reinstates  the 
absolute  principles  of  the  old  school  on  the  levelling 
doctrines  of  the  new. 

Our  incongruities  do  not  stop  here.  We  have 
in  our  steerage  light  hearted  lads,  unacquainted 
with  a  single  rope  in  the  ship,  never  perhaps  from 
home,  certainly  never  at  sea  before,  and  who  are 
now  giving  orders  to  old  weather-beaten  mariners, 
who  have  ploughed  every  ocean  known  to  the 
globe.  I  pen  this  not  in  disparagement  of  these  in 
experienced  youth  ;  for  they  have  a  quick  play  of 
intelligence  and  a  freedom  from  vicious  habit  that 
justly  entitles  them  to  esteem  and  affection.  May 
they  be  able  to  preserve  the  "  whiteness  of  the  soul" 
untouched  by  the  evils  that  await  them,  and  revisit 
their  sacred  homes  still  worthy  of  a  mother's  fond 
ness  and  a  father's  pride.  The  tendency  of  early 
lessons  of  wisdom  and  piety,  with  the  incipient 
habits  of  childhood  may  at  times  be  diverted  and 
driven  from  their  course,  but  they  generally  recover 


22  TRAITS  OP  THE  SAILOR. 

again  their  original  channels.  If  there  be  any  se 
curity  in  after  years  against  a  wide  departure  from 
virtue,  it  is  found  in  the  early  instructions  of  an 
anxious,  devoted  mother.  The  course  of  the  arrow 
is  decided  by  the  bow  she  holds  in  her  hands. 

Our  ship  is  a  frigate  of  the  second  class,  of  light, 
compact  and  graceful  architecture ;  she  cuts  her 
way  through  the  water  as  smoothly  and  silently  as 
the  dolphin.  Our  crew  are  more  youthful,  more 
full  of  health  and  vigor,  than  are  usually  met  with 
on  the  deck  of  a  man-of-war.  They  are  remarka 
bly  young,  as  years  are  reckoned  on  land,  but  the 
life  of  a  sailor  usually  stops  far  short  of  that  period 
commonly  allotted  to  man.  His  occupation  and 
habits  shake  his  life-glass  and  hurry  out  its  sands. 
I  never  see  one  of  them  die  without  those  feelings 
we  experience  in  seeing  a  noble  being  extingushed 
before  his  time.  He  has  points  of  character  that 
penetrate  to  your  deepest  sensibilities.  You  see 
him  dividing  his  last  shilling  with  a  pennyless 
stranger, — perilling  his  life  for  one  who  may  perhaps 
never  appreciate  the  self-sacrificing  act, — living  to 
day  in  gay  forgetfulness  of  the  evils  which  the  mor 
row  must  bring, — undergoing  hardship,  privation 
and  suffering  with  an  unclouded  cheerfulness, — and 
when  death  comes,  resigning  himself  to  its  calamity 
with  a  composure  that  belongs  more  to  philosophy 
and  religion  than  the  characteristics  of  his  rude  life. 
If  any  being  full  of  errors,  generous  impulses,  and 


SUNSET.  23 

broken  resolves,  may  hope  for  mercy  in  his  last  ac 
count,  it  must  be  the  poor  sailor, — the  being  whom 
temptation  and  suffering  have  visited  in  every  form, 
whose  scanty  enjoyments  have  been  snatched  from 
the  severest  lot,  and  whose  wild  profession  has 
placed  him  essentially  beyond  the  reach  of  those  re 
deeming  influences,  to  which  every  Ch'ristian  com 
munity  is  indebted  for  its  virtue  and  its  hope  of 
heaven. 

I  have  been  on  deck  at  the  close  of  every  clear 
day  to  see  the  sun  go  down.  This  is  a  beautiful  sight 
on  shore,  but  more  so  at  sea ;  for  here  the  glowing 
orb  appears  divested  of  that  excessive  brightness, 
which  on  land  frequently  dazzles  and  pains  the 
naked  eye  of  the  beholder.  He  seems  to  partake  of 
that  solemnity  which  is  felt  through  nature  at  his 
disappearance.  The  clouds  which  attended  him 
through  the  day  in  glittering  attire,  now  assume  a 
more  sober  aspect,  and  put  on  a  dress  of  deeper 
richness,  their  full  and  flowing  folds  have  a  ground 
work  of  purple  and  gold,  and  as  they  float  together, 
they  rear  over  this  retiring  monarch  of  the  sky  a 
pavilion,  compared  with  the  magnificence  of  which, 
the  splendors  of  the  oriental  couch  are  but  the  tinsel, 
which  .gilds  the  cradled  sleep  of  the  nursery. 
When  the  last  ray  that  lingered  above  the  wave 
has  vanished,  and  twilight  is  gone,  the  deep  blue 
vault  of  heaven  seems  to  sweep  down  to  the  level 
waters,  and  shut  out  all  life,  and  breath,  and  motion, 


24  DEATH. 

beyond  its  incumbent  circle.  It  is  then  you  feel 
alone — earth  with  its  ceaseless  stir  and  countless 
voices  is  shut  out, — there  is  nothing  around,  beneath, 
above,  but  the  srient  sky  and  the  sleeping  ocean. 
A  man  who  can  stand  in  such  a  breathless  solitude 
as  this,  and  riot  think  with  warm  veneration  of 
HIM,  whose 'benevolent  eye  notices  the  fall  of  the 
lonely  sparrow,  must  carry  within  him  a  heart  as 
cold  and  insensible  as  the  marbles  of  the  dead. 

This  observation  was  made  to  one  who  stood 
near  me,  and  whose  fine  susceptibilities  were  more 
deeply  touched  than  my  own.  To  her  this  twilight 
change,  and  desert  ocean,  seemed  to  call  up  memo 
ries  in  which  the  heart  lingers  with  a  bewildering 
fondness.  She  has  exchanged  the  security  of  the 
shore  and  the  society  of  the  most  gentle  and  refined 
for  the  perils  and  hard  features  of  a  man-of-war. 
Her  feelings,  as  they  break  through  her  conversa 
tion,  betray  a  freshness  and  elevation  of  tone  that 
find  their  way  to  your  affection  and  esteem.  Culti 
vated  and  refined,  without  being  supercilious, — 
cheerful  and  communicative,  without  being-  obtru 
sive  or  trifling  ; — with  mental  endowments  to  enter 
tain  the  best  informed,  and  a  demeanor  conciliating 
the  most  rude,  she  must  be  deservedly  popular  in 
her  new  condition,  and  cannot  fail  to  enhance  the 
estimation  in  which  the  fair  of  our  country  are  held 
by  foreigners. 

Death  is  a  fearful  thing,  come  in  what  form  it 


FUNERAL  AT  SEA.  25 

may — fearful  when  the  vital  cords  are  so  gradually 
relaxed,  that  life  passes  away  softly  as  music  from 
the  slumbering  harp  string — fearful  when  in  his 
own  quiet  chamber,  the  departing  one  is  summoned 
by  those  who  sweetly  follow  him  with  their  prayers, 
when  the  assiduities  of  friendship  and  affection  can 
go  no  further,  and  who  discourse  of  heaven  and 
future  blessedness,  till  the  closing  ear  can  no  longer 
catch  the  tones  of  the  long  familiar  voice,  and  who, 
lingering  near,  still  feel  for  the  hushed  pulse,  and 
then  trace  in  the  placid  slumber,  which  pervades 
each  feature,  a  quiet  emblem  of  the  spirit's  serene 
repose.  What  then  must  this  dread  event  be  to 
one,  who  meets  it  comparatively  alone,  far  away 
from  the  hearth  of  his  home,  upon  a  troubled  sea, 
between  the  narrow  decks  of  a  restless  ship,  and 
at  that  dread  hour  of  night,  when  even  the  sympa 
thies  of  the  world  seem  suspended.  Such  has  been 
the  end  of  many  who  traverse  the  ocean,  and  such 
was  the  hurried  end  of  him,  whose  remains  we 
have  just  consigned  to  a  watery  grave. 

He  was  a  sailor,  but  beneath  his  rude  exterior 
he  carried  a  heart,  touched  with  refinement,  pride 
and  greatness.  There  was  something  about  him, 
which  spoke  of  better  days  and  a  higher  destiny ; 
by  what  errors  or  misfortunes  he  was  reduced  to 
his  humble  condition,  was  a  secret  which  he  would 
reveal  to  none.  Silent,  reserved  and  thoughtful, 
he  stood  a  stranger  among  his  free  companions, 
3 


/CO  FUNERAL  AT  SEA. 

and  never  was  his  voice  heard  in  the  laughter  or 
the  jest.  He  has  undoubtedly  left  behind  many 
who  will  long  look  for  his  return,  and  bitterly  weep 
when  they  are  told  they  shall  see  his  face  no  more. 
As  the  remains  of  poor  Prether  were  brought 
tip  on  deck,  wound  in  that  hammock,  which  through 
many  a  stormy  night  had  swung  to  the  wind,  one 
could  not  but  observe  the  big  tear  that  stole  uncon 
sciously  down  the  rough  cheek  of  his  hardy  com 
panions.  When  the  funeral  service  was  read  to 
that  most  affecting  passage — "  we  commit  this  body 
to  the  deep," — and  the  plank  was  heaved,  which 
precipitated  to  the  momentary  eddy  of  the  wave  the 
quickly  disappearing  form,  a  heaving  sigh  from 
those  around  told  that  the  strong  heart  of  the  sailor 
can  be  touched  with  grief,  and  that  a  truly  unaf 
fected  sorrow  may  accompany  virtue,  in  its  most 
unpretending  form,  to  the  extinguishing  night  of 
the  grave.  Yet  how  soon  is  such  a  scene  forgotten  ! 

"As  from  the  wing,  the  sky  no  scar  retains, 
The  parted  wave,  no  furrow  from  the  keel, 
So  dies  in  human  hearts,  the  thought  of  death." 

There  is  something  peculiarly  melancholy  and 
impressive  in  a  burial  at  sea; — there  is  here  no 
coffin  or  hearse,  procession  or  tolling  bell, — nothing 
that  gradually  prepares  us  for  the  final  separation. 
The  body  is  wound  in  the  drapery  of  its  couch, 
much  as  if  the  deceased  were  only  in  a  quiet  and 
temporary  sleep.  In  these  habiliments  of  seeming 


GRAVE  IN  THE  DEEP.  27 

slumber,  it  is  dropped  into  the  wave,  the  waters 
close  over  it,  the  vessel  passes  quickly  on,  and  not  a 
solitary  trace  is  left  to  tell  where  sunk  from  light 
and  life  one  that  loved  to  look  at  the  sky  and  breathe 
this  vital  air.  There  is  nothing  that  for  one  moment 
can  point  to  the  deep,  unvisited  resting  place  of  the 
departed, — it  is  a  grave  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean — 
in  the  midst  of  a  vast  untrodden  solitude ; — affec 
tion  cannot  approach  it  with  its  tears,  the  dews  of 
heaven  cannot  reach  it,  and  there  is  around  it  no 
violet,  or  shrub,  or  murmuring  stream. 

It  may  be  superstitious,  but  no  advantages  of 
wealth,  or  honor,  or  power,  through  life,  would 
reconcile  me  at  its  close  to  such  a  burial.  I  would 
rather  share  the  coarse  and  scanty  provisions  of 
the  simplest  cabin,  and  drop  away  unknown  and 
unhonored  by  the  world,  so  that  my  final  resting 
place  be  beneath  some  green  tree,  by  the  side  of 
some  living  stream,  or  in  some  familiar  spot  where 
the  few  that  loved  me  in  life  might  visit  me  in 
death.  But  whether  our  grave  be  in  the  fragrant 
shade,  or  in  the  fathomless  ocean,  among  our  kin 
dred,  or  in  the  midst  of  strangers,  the  day  is  coming 
when  we  shall  all  appear  at  one  universal  bar,  and 
receive  from  a  righteous  Judge  the  award  of  our 
deeds.  He  that  is  wisest,  penetrates  the  future  the 
deepest. 

The  day  passed  slowly  and  sadly  away; — no 
sail  broke  the  fartherest  verge  of  the  horizon, — no 


28  A  BIRD. 

passing  cloud  brought  with  it  the  incense  of  an 
unseen  shore; — but  at  night-fall  a  little  bird  was 
seen  hovering  in  wide  circles  around  our  ship.  It 
had  been  driven  out  to  sea  in  a  storm,  or  had  wan 
dered  in  its  careless  mirth  too  far  from  its  native 
isle ;  it  was  unable  to  retrace  its  way,  too  timid  to 
light,  and  too  exhausted  to  keep  much  longer  on 
the  wing. 

Lonely  wand'rer  o'er  the  ocean, 
Fainting  for  a  place  of  rest, — 
Can'st  no  longer  keep  in  motion, 
Durst  not  trust  the  billow's  breast ; — 

Feeling  fast  thy  strength  diminish, 
Yet  canst  spy  no  friendly  shore, 
And  must  sink,  e'er  thou  canst  finish 
One  returning  circle  more ; — 

Rest  thee  here — I'll  softly  pillow 
Thy  too  faint  and  feeble  form, — 
Bear  thee  safely  o'er  the  billow, 
Through  this  night  of  cloud  and  storm. 


CHAPTER   II. 

First  sight  of  Land— Peak  of  Pico— Terceira— City  of  Angra— Visit 
to  the  shore— Appearance  of  the  Inhabitants — Cathedral— Vespers 
— Convent— Nuns — Gardens — Singular  Monument — Shaving  the 
Hog— A  Gale. 

THERE  is  one  short  exclamation  in  our  lan 
guage  which  conveys  to  the  heart  of  one  at  sea  a 
more  thrilling  excitement,  than  the  highest  raptures 
of  poetic  inspiration.  It  has  no  meaning  to  a  man 
who  plods  out  his  days  on  the  uneventful  earth,  but 
to  one  who  moves  from  zone  to  zone  upon  the 
"  blue  wave,"  and  has  many  days  since  parted  with 
the  shore,  it  comes  like  a  glad  message  from  another 
world:  "land,  ho!"  I  heard  it  this  morning  from 
mast-head  just  at  the  break  of  day,  and  sprung  upon 
deck,  with  eye  never  so  quickly  cleared  to  catch  a 
sight  of  what  it  conveyed;  but  I  could  see  nothing 
except  a  heavy  bank  of  clouds  over  our  larboard 
bow.  "  Don't  you  see,"  said  the  old  cruiser  who 
stood  near  me, "  that  bit  of  a  dark  spot  there,  bobbing 
up  like  a  buoy  out  of  water — there,  now  its  gone, 
but  keep  it  in  your  eye,  and  you'll  see  it  again  in  a 
minute,  just  under  the  stern  of  that  scudding  cloud." 
So  I  fixed  my  eye  on  the  cloud,  which  the  fancy  of 
the  old  seaman  had  converted  into  a  well  rigged 
3* 


30  PICO. 

ship,  which  had  just  obtruded  its  dusky  sides  between 
us  and  that  dark  spot  against  the  sky,  but  I  was 
still  uncertain  at  what  precise  point  upon  the  hull 
to  look,  not  being  able  to  distinguish  the  stern  from 
the  stem  in  this  aerial  craft.  "  There,  there  sir,  it 
comes  again,"  whispered  the  sharp  eyed  tar.  "  At 
which  end  of  the  cloud  ?"  I  inquired  impatiently. 
"  At  her  stern,  sir,  at  her  stern,  close  under  her 
spanker  boom,"  was  the  technical  reply,  which  be 
trayed  a  much  better  knowledge  of  nautical  phrases 
than  of  an  intelligible  relationship  between  an 
obscuring  cloud,  and  a  sharp,  elevated  point  of 
land. 

This  "dark  spot"  on  the  sky,  of  a  towering 
sugar-loaf  shape,  and  distinguishable  in  this  respect 
only,  from  the  thick  and  motionless  mass  of  clouds 
which  lay  beneath  it,  proved  to  be  the  Peak  of  Pico, 
rising  abruptly  some  seven  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea,  and  which  may  be  seen  in  clear 
weather  at  a  distance  of  eighty  miles.  We  were 
so  near  it,  that  two  hours  sail  brought  into  beau 
tiful  relief,  upon  the  sides  of  its  green  acclivities, 
the  white  cottages  of  its  inhabitants.  I  longed  to 
leap  upon  its  shore,  and  mount  its  steep  cliffs,  but 
we  were  sailing  for  Terceira;  so  adieu  to  Pico,  to  its 
vine  clad  hills,  and  its  volcanic  Peak,  beneath  which 
the  rainbow  and  thunder  cloud  dwell  in  strange 
concord. 

A  fair  and  fresh  breeze,  soon  brought  us  in  sight 


TERCEIRA.  31 

of  the  bold  and  lofty  rocks,  which  wall  the  circular 
shores  of  Terceira — furnishing  its  quiet  inhabitants 
a  defence,  which  may  excuse  in  them  their  want 
of  that  chivalrous  valor,  which  exposure  and  danger 
inspire.  Beneath  the  steep  battlements,  which  na 
ture  has  reared  along  the  breaker-beaten  coast  of 
this  island,  a  thousand  hostile  fleets  might  exhaust 
their  malice  in  vain  ;  the  iron  storm  of  their  bat 
teries  would  make  as  little  impression,  as  the  bubbles 
of  a  muttering  wave.  Upon  the  south  side,  this 
natural  wall  bends  inward,  affording  a  small  har 
bor,  of  deep  bottom  and  unsafe  anchorage.  At  the 
foot  of  a  mountain,  which  here  freshly  descends  to 
the  bright  water,  stands  the  neat  city  of  Angra,  the 
capital  of  the  island.  We  swung  around  into  this 
inlet  and  let  go  our  anchor,  to  the  pleasurable  sur 
prise  of  many,  who  from  their  turrets  and  balconies 
were  scanning  our  flag,  and  recognizing  in  it  a 
long  absent  friend.  The  blue  and  white  banner, 
which  floated  from  a  small  armed  ship,  and  the  two 
fortifications,  which  defend  the  harbor,  told  us 
that  Donna  Maria  was  the  infant  Q,ueen  of  this 
romantic  isle. 

The  necessities  of  an  impatient  dinner  over,  we 
hastened  to  the  shore,  where  we  met  our  quasi  Con 
sul,  who  politely  offered  us  his  attentions  in  any  form 
that  might  be  most  agreeable.  As  we  had  but  a 
few  hours  to  stay,  we  declined  the  hospitalities  of 
his  hearth,  preferring  a  ramble  through  the  princi- 


32  ANGRA. 

pal  streets,  and  a  hasty  look  at  the  strange  aspect 
every  thing  wore.  Under  his  guidance  we  passed 
from  street  to  street,  meeting  every  where  new 
fledged  soldiers  and  little  groups  of  citizens,  who 
had  been  brought  together  by  the  sudden  appear 
ance  of  our  ship. 

The  bells  were  chiming  for  vespers,  and  we 
turned  into  the  Cathedral — a  building  of  huge 
dimensions,  in  the  Gothic  style.  We  found  here 
about  forty  priests,  or  friars,  and  as  many  boys,  who 
had  the  gift  of  music  in  them,  sustaining  the  chant 
and  occasionally  breaking  out  with  great  animation 
in  the  chorus.  When  I  inquired  of  our  polite 
guide  for  the  audience — the  worshipping  multitude 
that  might  here  be  accommodated,  he  pointed  to 
one  poor  publican  kneeling  in  the  centre  of  the  vast 
area,  and  observed,  the  people  here  do  not  attend 
vespers.  What  a  worship  I  was  about  to  exclaim 
is  this  ! — whether  paid  to  God,  or  saint,  or  sinner. 
Why,  the  little  brook,  as  it  murmurs  its  vesper 
hymn  in  the  ear  of  nature,  has  at  least  a  lonely  pil 
grim  or  bird  on  its  brink,  to  listen  to  its  harmony, 
and  catch  the  spirit  of  its  homage.  But  here  is  a 
magnificent  temple  with  its  sweeping  aisles,  per 
fumed  altars,  white  robed  priests,  and  melodious 
choir,  all  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  the  most 
High  and  the  sacred  edification  of  man — and  only 
one  poor  penitent  of  the  thousands,  whose  sins  or 
gratitude  should  bring  them  here,  is  seen  to  come 


PRIEST.  33 

and  kneel.  Surely  there  must  be  "rottenness  in 
Denmark." 

Breaking  from  this  partial  reverie,  I  joined  our 
company  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  aisle,  where  our 
guide  was  leading  the  way  to  some  recess,  or  shrine, 
with  an  air  of  peculiar  awe — it  was  the  sanctum 
sanctorum  of  the  place,  and  we  paused  upon  its  hal 
lowed  threshold.  Three  large  wax  candles  were 
burning  within,  and  before  these  a  venerable  priest 
was  walking,  as  one,  that  meditates  alone.  The 
solitary  prelate  instantly  invited  us  in,  and  seemed 
to  excuse  our  not  crossing  ourselves  to  the  sacred 
pictures  which  hung  upon  the  walls.  This  conse 
crated  cloister  was  distinguished  for  the  sober  rich 
ness  of  its  furniture,  its  silent  solemnity,  and  the 
multiplicity  of  images,  which  cast  upon  us  from 
every  quarter,  their  looks  of  penitence  and  celestial 
hope.  Around  the  embroidered  curtain,  which  en 
closed  the  Host,  bloomed  several  vases  of  fresh 
flowers  ;  the  priest  from  one  of  them,  as  we  retired, 

plucked  a  rich  carnation  and  gave  it  to  Mrs.  R 

with  the  most  graceful  inclination  that  I  ever  saw 
in  a  man  of  his  years.  There  was  something  in 
the  manner  of  his  presenting  this  beautiful  flower, 
which  made  one  for  the  moment  forget  that  we  can 
ever  grow  old.  The  rose  was  a  delicate  compli 
ment,  and  will  be  cherished  by  her  to  whom  it  was 
given,  long  after  the  perfume  has  passed  from  its 
withered  leaf,  and  long  after  the  thin  pale  hand 


34  CONVENT. 

which  tendered  it  shall  have  forgotten  its  kindly 
office. 

From  the  Cathedral  we  wandered  into  a  street, 
leading  past  a  favorite  convent,  beneath  the  high 
walls  of  which,  scarcely  a  blade  of  grass  was  seen 
to  shoot.  On  enquiring  the  cause  of  the  sterile 
and  trodden  aspect  of  the  ground,  we  were  inform 
ed  that  the  young  men  of  the  city  were  in  the  habit 
of  frequenting  that  place,  hoping  to  catch  an  an 
swering  glance,  or  word,  from  the  truant  nuns 
within.  The  windows  had  balconies,  in  which 
were  placed  various  pots  of  flowers,  the  care  of 
which  afforded  the  veiled  inmates,  a  pretext  for 
visiting  the  light,  but  while  hovering  over  their 
cherished  plants,  their  eyes  it  seems  are  wont  to 
meet  those  of  some  romantic  Romeo  below, — and 
then  a  devoted  word  goes  up,  and  another,  with 
some  sweet  flower,  comes  down ; — and  now  and 
then,  the  gentle  Juliet  comes  down  herself — not  to 
descend  into  a  tomb,  but  to  make  a  heart  happy, 
that  has  turned  away  from  the  gay  saloon  to  the 
pensive  convent. 

I  like  these  romantic  touches  in  human  life ; 
they  are  green  spots  in  a  desert.  I  know  not 
what  His  Holiness  the  Pope,  or  the  Lady  Abbess 
might  say  to  such  a  charmed  elopement  of  one  of 
their  nuns,  but  sure  I  am  that  if  I  am  ever  con 
cerned  in  what  is  coarsely  termed  a  run-away 
match,  the  object  of  my  pious  plunder  shall  be 


GARDEN.  35 

some  brilliant  being,  suffering  an  involuntary  con 
finement  in  one  of  these  living  graves.  Nor  am  I 
without  an  encouraging  example  :  a  Captain  in  the 
British  Navy  recently  ran  away  with  one  from  a 
convent  in  Teneriffe,  and  found  in  her  all, 

"  Which  Eve  has  left  her  daughters  since  her  fall." 

The  next  object  that  arrested  our  steps  was  an 
extensive  and  neatly  arranged  garden,  connected 
with  an  herb-growing  monastery,  and  which,  as  our 
conductor  informed  us,  was  rather  a  flattering  spe 
cimen  of  the  horticulture  of  the  island.  In  the 
midst  of  plats,  upon  whose  varied  bosom  the  rose 
and  geranium  were  intertwined,  appeared  most  of 
the  tropical  fruits  and  plants  in  vigorous  growth. 
To  one  who  has  been  many  days  at  sea,  living  on 
hard  bread  and  salt  meat,  the  slightest  vegetable, 
even  a  head  of  lettuce,  appears  a  tempting  luxury ; 
but  an  inaccessible  orange  or  bannana  is  like  the 
stream  which  mocked  the  parched  lips  of  poor 
Tantalus.  But  we  left  this  ample  garden,  so  full  of 
vegetable  life,  with  all  its  budding  sweets,  untouched 
and  untasted ;  not  a  flower  was  plucked,  or  a  leaf 
disturbed  in  its  green  quietude.  Though  sorely 
tempted,  we  kept  this  once  the  eighth  command 
ment. 

After  strolling  through  several  more  of  the 
streets,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  public  square,  upon 
rather  a  confined  scale,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood 


36  MONUMENT. 

a  somewhat  singular  monument.  It  was  con 
structed  of  a  species  of  calcarious  stone,  of  dark  hue 
and  compact  texture,  and  consisted  of  an  elevated 
quadrangular  pedestal,  upon  which  rose  a  cylindri 
cal  column,  bearing  a  capital  with  a  device  which 
no  one  could  trace  to  any  definite  order  of  archi 
tecture,  or  particular  school  of  sculpture.  The 
whole  betrayed  the  wasting  effects  of  time,  though 
the  outline  had  been  preserved  quite  entire.  One 
of  our  company  having  a  great  fondness  for  anti 
quities,  immediately  commenced  transcribing  a  half 
obliterated  inscription  upon  its  base,  others  descant 
ed  on  the  beauty  and  harmony  of  its  proportions ; 
the  rest  of  us  wandered  back  in  thought,  through 
the  depth  of  centuries,  to  the  virtues  of  those  whose 
achievements  were  here  rendered  immortal.  Our 
conductor,  who  had  been  detained  by  some  company 
we  had  met  on  the  way,  now  joined  us  ;  and  observ 
ing  the  rapt  air  in  which  each  stood,  and  the  anti 
quary  with  his  busy  pencil,  remarked  that  the  time 
worn  object  of  our  contemplative  wonder  was  a — 
pillory.  O,  what  a  sickness  of  the  heart  came  over 
us,  at  the  sound  of  that  word ; — romance,  a  love  of 
the  marvelous,  self-complacency,  all  died  within  us, 
as  we  blushingly  turned  away  from  this  only  monu 
ment  which  we  met  with  in  Angra.  Our  mortified 
vanity,  however,  was  soon  exhilaratingly  revived, 
by  a  glass  of  native  wine,  and  a  cup  of  excellent 
coffee,  at  the  house  of  our  Consul. 


STREETS.  37 

The  streets  of  Angra,  though  narrow,  are  un 
commonly  clean  for  a  Portuguese  city.  The  houses 
are  generally  of  two  stories,  and  have  many  of 
them  balconies,  screened  by  vines  and  trellis  work, 
which,  without  excluding  the  air,  aifords  a  green 
protection  to  the  black-eyed  beauty  as  she  catches 
a  glimpse  of  the  moving  crowd  below.  The  appa 
rel  of  the  poorer  classes  is  clean,  but  it  is  obvious 
that  the  needle  has  in  many  cases  been  put  in 
extensive  requisition  to  repair  the  rents  of  time. 
The  costume  of  the  better  conditioned  circles, 
though  not  glaringly  gaudy,  is  rather  showy  than 
rich.  There  is  very  little  about  the  place,  indica 
tive  of  wealth  or  earnest  enterprise.  It  must  have 
paused  for  many  years  in  the  march  of  improve 
ment.  This  is  owing  to  the  unsettled  state  of  its  poli 
tical  relations,  its  frequent  revolutions,  the  rapacity 
and  poverty  of  its  successive  masters.  Even  the 
bells  of  some  of  the  churches  have  been  taken  down 
and  coined.  There  are  men,  who,  if  they  could 
get  there,  would  pick  out  and  peddle  the  gems 
which  glow  in  the  pavements  of  heaven. 

The  wines  of  this  island  are  inferior  to  those  of 
the  Canaries  ;  and  the  birds  less  musical,  but  the 
lands  are  abundantly  productive  of  grain,  pasturage 
and  fruits.  Little  attention,  however,  is  paid  to 
flocks  and  herds,  unless  the  treatment  which  the 
hog  receives  be  considered  an  exception.  This 
coarse  animal,  which  of  late  has  become  among  us 
4 


38  SHAVING  A  HOG. 

little  more  than  a  strong  political  metaphor,  is  here 
remarkable  for  his  anti-Jew  characteristics  ;  he  is 
not  only  obnoxious  to  this  class  of  people,  from  his 
very  nature,  but  this  antipathy  is  enhanced  by  the 
instrumentality  of  the  razor,  applied,  it  is  true,  not 
to  his  face — only  his  back.  This  is  done  not  out  of 
disrespect  to  those  who  have  repudiated  this  humble 
quadruped,  but  for  the  sake  of  giving  him  a  greater 
breadth  of  beam.  Whether  this  is  really  the  effect 
or  a  mere  conceit,  I  did  not  particularly  inquire.  I 
ask  pardon  for  introducing  here,  this  unseemly 
emblem  of  the  spirit  of  our  party  devotedness ; — 
though  Byron  in  his  masterly  letter  to  Bowles,  con 
tends,  that  if  pure,  unsophisticated  nature  be  the 
highest  theme  of  the  muse,  then  the  most  poetical 
object  in  the  world  must  be — "  a  hog  in  a  high  wind." 
At  a  little  before  sun-set,  we  returned  on  board, 
for  the  sky  had  already  begun  to  assume  an  omi 
nous  change,  when  orders  were  immediately  given 
to  get  underway.  We  had  no  sooner  weighed  an 
chor — leaving  our  fluke  among  the  ragged  rocks  of 
its  bed — and  made  sail,  than  night  set  in  with  an 
aspect  of  terrific  gloom.  The  wind  which  had  been 
blowing  fresh  during  the  afternoon,  now  came  with 
the  violence  of  a  gale  ; — the  clouds  which  had  hung 
around  us  at  twilight,  in  huge  black  masses,  sudden 
ly  heaved  their  distended  forms  over  the  heavens 
and  increased  in  density  and  darkness,  till  they  shut 
out  its  last  struggling  ray  ; — of  the  sea,  which  began 


GALE.  39 

to  speak  to  us  in  the  shock  and  terror  of  its  resistless 
motion,  nothing  was  seen  but  the  fitful  light,  which 
occasionally  flashed  from  the  crest  of  a  plunging 
wave.  In  this  world  of  wild  convulsion  and  impen 
etrable  night,  through  which  the  sheeted  dead  and 
a  shaking  earthquake  might  have  passed  unperceiv- 
ed,  our  ship  sustained  herself  with  singular  steadi 
ness  and  resolution.  With  her  magnificent  wings 
furled,  and  her  loftier  spars  taken  down,  she  resem 
bled  the  battling  hero,  remaining  firm,  with  his 
plume  and  helmet  swept  away,  and  his  sword  bro 
ken  at  the  hilt.  At  midnight  the  gale  began  to  sub 
side,  and  at  break  of  day  there  was  little  evidence 
left  of  its  fearful  energy,  except  the  heavy  sea  it  had 
raised,  and  the  dismantled  condition  of  our  noble  ship. 
In  the  course  of  the  day,  a  sad  memorial  of  its 
violence  drove  past  us  in  the  shape  of  a  wreck.  It 
was  pursued  by  huge  waves,  that  broke  over  it 
with  an  exulting  fierceness,  and  savage  glee.  Her 
masts  had  been  swept  by  the  board, — her  helm  car 
ried  away, — her  gunwale  broken  down, — not  a  liv 
ing  being  remained,  or  even  a  breathless  corse  to  tell 
who  there  wept,  prayed,  and  despaired !  This  is 
only  a  type  of  that  universal  wreck  that  is  coming 
on :  for 

This  mighty  globe,  with  all  its  stretching  sail 
And  pennants  set,  is  speeding  wildly  fast, 
To  that  dim  coast,  where  thunder-cloud  and  gale 
Will  rend  the  shroud,  and  bow  the  lofty  mast. 

Then,  with  its  helm  and  spars,  and  strong  deck  broken, 

'Twill  be  as  poor  a  wreck  as  e'er  was  spoken. 


40  GALE. 

No  beacon  there  will  cast  its  cheering  ray 
To  show  the  mariner  the  welcome  shore ; 
No  friendly  star  come  forth,  just  as  the  day 
Darkens  above,  the  ceaseless  breakers  roar  j 
No  pump  be  found,  with  valve  and  vacuum  in  it, 
To  Keep  this  ship  afloat  another  minute. 

And  so  'twill  sink  amid  the  tide  of  time, 
And  leave  no  relic  on  the  closing  wave, 
Except  the  annals  of  its  grief  and  crime. 
The  pitying  heaven  will  weep  above  its  grave, 
And  universal  nature  softly  rear, 
A  dewy  urn,  to  this  departed  sphere. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Madeira— First  Appearance — Effect  of  Sunset — Ride  into  the  Inte 
rior — Ponies — Burroqueros — Deep  Ravines — Peasantry — A  Ma- 
deiran  Beauty— An  English  Lady— Dinner  and  Dancing. 

As  the  white  clouds,  which  hung  this  morning 
like  a  widely  distended  veil  over  our  weather-bow, 
were  occasionally  ruffled  by  the  breeze,  we  caught 
momentary  glimpses  of  the  lofty  and  varied  out-line 
of  the  heights  of  Madeira.  Here  a  steep  cliff  pre 
sented  its  wild  features,  there  the  green  side  of  some 
hill  smiled  forth,  while  upon  gentler  elevations 
appeared  the  white  dwellings  of  the  inhabitants,  in 
beautiful  contrast  with  the  deep  verdure  in  which 
they  were  embowered. — Upon  the  beach  foamed  the 
successive  wave,  or  cast  its  white  crest  high  up  the 
jutting  rock.  The  whole  appeared  the  work  of  en 
chantment — a  mere  illusion  sent  to  please  and 
mock  the  senses ;  and  this  impression  was  almost 
confirmed,  as  the  spreading  folds  of  the  floating 
clouds,  again  snatched  every  vestige  of  the  entire 
scene  from  our  fixed  eyes.  Had  death  come  upon 
me  at  that  moment,  I  should  have  departed  with  a 
full  belief  in  the  mystery  and  power,  which  fancy  or 
superstition  has  ascribed  to  those  fairy  agents,  who 
dwell  in  subtle  essence,  and  work  their  marvels  upon 


42  MADEIRA. 

the  palpitating  experience  of  man.  But  a  springing 
breeze  unveiled  again  the  hidden  object  of  our  curi 
osity,  and  brought  us  at  length  so  near  it,  that  it 
appeared  before  us  in  all  its  unrivalled  wildness 
and  beauty.  Could  I  see  but  one  island,  in  its  pro 
gressive  development  from  the  obscurity  of  cloud, 
and  sky,  and  wave — it  should  be  Madeira.  There 
is  no  isle,  even  under  the  glittering  skies  of  the  West- 
Indies,  that  has  such  an  enchanting  effect  as  this, — 
none  that  seems  so  completely  a  thing  of  light, 
laughter  and  beauty. 

As  we  floated  into  its  open  roadstead,  we  passed 
an  English  frigate  lying  at  anchor,  which  saluted  us 
with  a  '  Hail  Columbia,3 — a  compliment  which  our 
band  returned  with  a  badly  played,  '  God  save  the 
King.' — Our  anchor  was  now  let  go, — our  sails 
clewed  down,  and  a  boat  lowered  for  the  shore.  I 
remained  on  board,  to  witness  the  effect  of  the  set 
ting  sun  upon  the  scene  before  us.  Twilight  here 
is  of  short  duration,  but  atones  for  its  brevity  by  its 
richness. 

The  city  of  Funchal,  before  which  we  were 
riding  at  anchor,  stands  against  a  green  amphithe 
atre  of  hills,  which  rapidly  ascend  to  an  elevation  of 
three  thousand  feet.  These  steeps  are  crowned  with 
pinnacles,  which  shoot  up  wild  and  high,  and  which 
are  burning  with  living  splendor,  after  the  advanc 
ing  twilight  has  cast  its  purple  shadows  over  the 
hushed  dwellings  beneath,  The  contrast  of  these 


SUNSET.  43 

flaming  turrets,  with  the  dim  and  dark  aspect  of 
that  which  slumbers  in  sunless  depths  below,  pro 
duces  an  effect  which  can  never  be  described,  and 
which  would  only  be  feebly  mimicked,  by  setting 
the  towering  bastions  of  some  hugely  walled  city, 
in  flames  while  silence  and  night  reigned  through  its 
untrodden  streets.  How  triumphant  is  nature,  both 
in  her  magnificent  and  minor  forms,  over  the  proud 
pretensions  of  man  ! — The  cliff  which  sunset  kindles, 
and  the  violet  which  the  dew-drop  gilds,  alike 
baffle  his  art  and  mock  his  vanity. 

In  the  morning  we  took  a  boat  for  the  shore,  for 
the  purpose  of  riding  into  the  interior  of  the  Island. 
We  were  met  at  the  landing  by  Mr.  Perigal,  our 
Vice  Consul,  who  had  politely  provided  Mrs.  R. 
with  a  palankeen,  in  which  she  was  carried  by  two 
broad  shouldered  men,  to  the  Consular  mansion. 
As  for  the  rest  of  us,  the  question  was  not,  how  we 
should  obtain  the  means  of  conveyance,  but  how  we 
should  manage  to  mount  one  saddle,  instead  of  two 
or  three  ;  for  we  were  surrounded  by  thirty  or  forty 
Burroqueros,  leading  their  donkies  into  our  very 
faces,  and  vociferating  "  this  one,  this  one,  this  one," 
with  an  earnestness  and  impatience,  which  rendered 
all  choice  impossible.  Indeed  we  were  glad  to  jump 
upon  any  thing  to  escape  from  such  a  snarl  of  ani 
mals,  and  importunate  drivers. 

In  a  moment  we  were  mounted,  and  rushing 
through  the  city,  with  a  Burroquero  holding  on 


44  BURROGIUEROS. 

with  one  hand  to  the  tail  of  his  poney,  and  with 
the  other  belaboring  his  limbs  with  a  long  stiff 
wand.  We  brought  up  at  the  door  of  the  Consul, 
where  we  halted  for  a  few  minutes,  till  Mrs.  R. 
could  mount  her  poney,  and  then  started  off,  full 
gallop,  for  the  interior.  The  clatter  of  hoofs  which 
we  left  behind,  brought  to  the  window  many  an  eye, 
whose  look  came  too  late.  Echo  and  wonder  only 
remained,  with  dust,  distance,  and  laughter.  John 
Gilpin's  race  with  all  its  involuntary  speed  was 
gravity,  compared  with  our  ludicrous  appearance  : 
it  was  enough  to  shake  the  powder  from  the  wig 
of  a  Chief  Justice. 

i  found  myself  bestriding  a  poney  about  as  large 
as  one  of  farmer  Darby's  black  sheep  ;  but  as  sure 
of  foot  as  any  fox  that  ever  jumped  ;  yet  in  the  gal 
lop,  his  fore  and  hind  quarters  went  up  in  such  quick 
alternations,  that  the  most  rapid  vibrations  of  the 
body  were  necessary  to  preserve  the  even  balance, 
and  keep  one  from  falling  over  the  stem  or  stern  of 
this  tossing  craft.  I  thought  after  all,  the  animal 
was  more  to  be  pitied  than  his  rider ;  and  when  we 
had  been  on  the  tilt  about  two  hours  and  come  to  the 
foot  of  another  long  and  steep  ascent,  I  dismounted 
to  the  no  small  amusement  of  the  driver,  who,  it 
would  seem,  much  better  understood  the  ability  of 
the  little  hardy  fellow,  than  myself. 

At  the  top  of  this  arduous  ascent,  we  found  our 
selves  suddenly  recoiling  from  the  crumbling  verge 


PONIES.  45 

of  a  ravine,  that  dropped  down  in  nearly  a  perpen 
dicular  descent,  two  thousand  feet.  As  we  disco 
vered  no  road  leading  away  from  this  perilous  posi 
tion,  except  that  by  which  we  had  come,  we  conclu 
ded,  of  course,  that  this  was  the  neplus  ultra  of  our 
ride.  But  crack  went  the  huge  sticks  of  the  drivers 
against  our  donkeys,  and  away  they  sprang  up  an  ex 
tremely  narrow  ledge  of  rocks,  that  beatled  out  over 
this  frightful  abyss.  There  was  no  stopping  them,  for 
a  concussion  of  the  animals  against  each  other  would 
have  precipitated  the  whole  of  us  to  the  bottom. 
Go  on  we  must,  but  whether  for  good  or  ill,  for 
gratification  or  broken  bones,  we  could  not  tell. 
Nothing  but  the  instinct  of  our  steeds  saved  us  ;  they 
balanced  along  with  well  poised  frame,  when  their 
riders  would  have  lost  their  footing,  and  with  a  spin 
ning  brain  come  toppling  down. 

Another  hour  of  this  hair-breadth  riding,  brought 
us  to  the  Curral — the  main  object  of  our  adventure. 
This  is  a  little  fertile  valley  sunk  into  the  heart  of 
the  island,  surrounded  by  a  wall  of  natural  rock, 
rising  to  a  height  of  twenty-five  hundred  feet.  Upon 
the  verge  of  this  wall  we  now  stood ;  but  every  ob 
ject  below  was  buried  beneath  masses  of  cloud; 
nothing  could  be  seen ;  nothing  heard,  except  the 
tones  of  a  church  bell,  as  they  struggled  up  through 
this  heavy  sea  of  vapor.  The  wild  cliffs  and  pinna 
cles,  which  still  towered  far  above  us,  shone  conspi 
cuously  in  the  light,  and  their  sunny  aspect  served  to 


46  RAVINES. 

deepen  the  gloom  which  rested  upon  the  un  pierced 
depths  below.  There  was  light,  and  beauty,  and 
resplendent  grandeur  above  ;  but  below,  brooded 
a  night,  upon  which  the  quick  rays  of  the  sun  fell 
at  once  quenched  and  powerless. 

After  partaking  of  a  very  welcome  lunch,  and 
some  excellent  wine,  which  Mr.  Perrigal  had  hospi 
tably  provided  for  the  occasion,  we  started  on  our 
return,  fully  determined,  if  we  should  get  back  with 
out  any  serious  accident,  to  make  another  excursion 
to  this  inland  wonder.  I  never  left  a  place  with 
greater  reluctance,  or  a  deeper  conviction  of  the 
power  of  man's  curiosity. 

On  our  return,  we  frequently  overtook,  as  we 
had  encountered  in  coming  out,  many  of  the  peas 
antry,  bearing  their  burthens  of  fuel  to  market. 
This  essential  article  consists  here,  principally  of  the 
fern,  and  the  roots  of  the  broom.  It  is  borne  from 
the  interior  upon  the  head ;  we  met  women  with 
large  bundles  of  it  in  this  position.  This  indeed  is 
the  only  mode  in  which  it  can  be  transported.  The 
paths  in  many  places  are  notched  into  the  steep 
face  of  a  mountain,  and  are  so  extremely  narrow, 
as  to  afford  a  passage  for  little  more  than  the  per 
son  of  the  individual.  The  burthen  is  therefore 
done  up  like  a  sheaf,  and  placed  on  the  head  in  a 
line  with  the  path.  With  one  hand,  the  patient 
bearer  steadies  her  load,  and  with  the  other,  by  the 
help  of  a  pointed  cane,  she  steadies  herself.  When 


PEASANTRY.  47 

two  encounter  each  other  with  their  loads,  one  of 
the  parties  looks  out  for  a  jutting  cliff,  or  a  deeper 
nitch,  where  she  stands  till  the  other  has  passed. 
It  was  only  in  this  mode  that  we  were  able  to  get 
along  with  our  ponies.  In  this  form  the  city  of 
Funchal  is  mainly  supplied  with  fuel ; — fortunately 
the  climate  is  habitually  so  very  mild,  that  little  is 
required,  except  for  culinary  purposes. 

I  never  had  such  a  feeling  of  sinking  sadness, 
as  when  I  saw  these  females,  with  these  enormous 
burthens  upon  their  heads.  There  was  something 
in  their  condition  so  strangely  at  variance  with  the 
delicacy  and  tenderness,  which  are  usually  the 
pride  and  privilege  of  their  sex  ;  when  I  observed, 
too,  the  unmurmuring  patience  and  cheerful  resolu 
tion  with  which  they  perform  the  incredible  task, 
I  could  have  stopped  and  wept.  Had  I  possessed  a 
key  to  the  mines  of  Peru,  I  could  have  cast  it  at 
their  feet.  They  carry  these  wearisome  loads, 
from  many  miles  in  the  interior,  through  the  most 
rough  and  perilous  passes,  to  the  city,  where  they 
are  obliged  to  part  with  them  for  a  few  farthings, 
and  then  start  at  night-fall,  faint,  and  perhaps  unat 
tended,  for  their  cabin  in  the  mountains.  The 
self-adapting  disposition  of  woman,  the  uncomplain 
ing  trust  with  which  she  submits  to  reverses  of  for 
tune,  and  the  hope  and  cheerfulness  with  which  she 
strives  to  inspire  others,  while  her  own  heart  may 
be  desolate,  are  high  and  affecting  attributes  which 


48  DINNER. 

belong  only  to  her.  She  is  essentially  the  same  in 
the  cottage  and  palace,  at  the  couch  of  pain  and  the 
hall  of  festivity,  in  all  that  constitutes  her  highest 
excellence,  and  man's  chief  happiness. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  the  thread—  not  of 
my  discourse — but  of  our  return  from  the  Curral. 
We  arrived  at  the  Consul's  quite  late  in  the  after 
noon,  and  sat  down  to  a  sumptuously  furnished 
table,  where  we  met  several  agreeable  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  of  the  island.  The  dinner  passed  off  with 
many  good  feelings,  and  amiable  sentiments  lit  up 
with  many  kindling  recollections  of  home.  I  saw, 
neither  on  this  occasion,  nor  any  other  while  in  the 
island  excessive  drinking,  even  in  the  pure  and  harm 
less  juice  of  the  grape.  There  was  no  ardent  spirits  of 
any  kind  upon  the  table,  nor  any  lurking  upon  the 
side-board,  to  tempt  the  lips  of  the  unwary  guest. 

When  the  table  broke  up,  we  found  in  the 
ample  mansion  every  facility  for  disposing  of  our 
selves  as  our  different  tastes  and  dispositions 
suggested.  Some  took  the  cigar,  and  talked  of 
politics ;  some  amused  themselves  in  the  garden, 
among  its  fruits  and  flowers ;  and  others,  like 
myself,  took  a  siesta, — that  dreamy  quietude 
in  which  weariness  forgets  its  exhaustion,  and 
the  spirits  rally  for  fresh  action.  I  always  had  a 
great  respect  for  sleep,  and  a  deep  love  of  dreams ; — 
the  first  is  the  most  innocent  occupation  in  which 
we  engage  ; — the  last,  the  most  sweet  and  beautiful. 


A    MADEIRAN    BEAUTY  49 

The  evening  presented  us  with  a  brilliant  circle 
of  ladies.  The  most  striking  feature  in  a  Madeiran 
beauty  is  her  eyes ;  these  are  usually  full  black 
and  floating ;  and  shaded  with  a  long  silken  lash, 
from  beneath  which  the  kindling  ray  flies  with  an 
electrical  effect.  You  would  hardly  think  that  an 
eye,  which  verges  so  close  upon  the  melancholy  in 
its  general  expression,  and  around  which  a  living 
languor  seems  to  sleep,  could  contain  such  vivify 
ing  power.  The  outline  of  her  face  perhaps 
approaches  the  circle  too  closely  for  depth  of  senti 
ment,  but  for  an  exhibition  of  cheerfulness,  it  could 
hardly  be  improved.  The  contour  of  her  person 
has  also  too  much  fullness  to  appear  in  perfect  con 
sonance  with  the  most  pliant  and  airy  motion  ; 
but  this  is  gently  relieved  by  a  foot  that  needs  no 
compression  to  give  her  carriage  a  light  and  airy 
cast.  Her  complexion  is  a  shade  darker  than  the 
brunettes  of  our  clime,  yet  equally  transparent ;  her 
locks  are  long,  and  black  as  the  raven's  wing  ;  and 
when  she  speaks,  it  is  not  simply  with  her  lips, — 
her  whole  countenance  is  lighted  up  and  eloquent. 

Among  the  English  ladies,  there  was  a  Miss 

E s,  whose  winning  sweetness  of  conversation 

and  demeanor,  came  upon  one  like  a  soft  mysteri 
ous  charm.  It  was  merely  nature  speaking  and 
acting  without  affectation  and  without  disguise. 
There  was  no  effort,  no  ambition,  and  not  the 
slightest  indication  that  she  was  even  aware  of  the 
5 


50  AN  ENGLISH  LADY/ 

interest  she  inspired.  Indeed  there  was  a  delicacy 
and  half  retiring  diffidence  about  her,  that  would 
have  shrunk  from  an  idea  of  the  attraction  which 
encircled  her.  The  pretensions  of  dress  and  the 
show  of  studied  airs  utterly  faded  under  her  man 
ner.  Her  thoughts  and  language  seemed  to  come 
forth  un wrought  and  spontaneous  from  their  pure 
fount,  yet  they  beamed  with  beauty  and  native 
intelligence.  I  never  met  with  but  one  lady  before, 
in  whom  nature  appeared  so  unmingled  and  sweetly 

triumphant.    That  lady  was  Mrs.  G.,  of  W , 

whom  I  shall  never  cease  to  remember,  till  all  that 
is  amiable  and  excellent  in  woman  has  ceased  to 
affect  me. 

The  evening  passed  off  in  music,  scattered  con 
versation  and  dancing.  As  for  the  first — I  was  a 
delighted  listener — the  more  so,  as  there  was  one 
voice  breathing  most  melodiously  there,  that  had 
come  with  us  over  the  wide  water  ;  and  as  for  the 
last — I  was  a  mere  looker  on,  though  in  no  surly 
censorious  mind.  I  never  could  see  much  sense  or 
pleasure  in  grown  people  bowing,  wriggling,  and 
skipping  about  the  floor  to  the  sound  of  a  fiddle- 
string.  It  may  perhaps  become  that  age,  when 
we  are  justly  "  pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a 
straw." — But  it  is  wearing  late,  and  I  must  leave  the 
ladies  fruit  cake  and  wine,  and  return  on  board 
the  Constellation. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Madeira  continued — Excursion — Villa  of  an  English  Bachelor — 
Tragical  death  of  George  Canning — Wild  Ravine— Singular 
Water-Fall—Lady  of  the  Mount— Superstition— The  dying  Mo 
ther's  Request— Star  of  Bethlehem. 

THE  cloudless  heights  of  Madeira  promising 
this  morning  a  fine  day  to  those  who  might  be  dis 
posed  to  make  an  excursion  among  their  wild 
scenes,  we  started  full  of  glee  at  a  very  early  hour. 
The  ponies  which  we  had  taken  from  the  multitude 
that  were  clamorously  urged  upon  us,  were  in  high 
spirits,  and  we  started  at  a  speed  that  would  have 
left  the  quickest  footman  in  our  country  panting  and 
puffing  in  the  distance.  Not  so  with  the  moun 
tain  boy  of  this  isle  ;  for  quick  or  slow,  he  is  ever 
singing,  whistling,  and  cracking  his  whip,  close  at 
the  heel  of  his  animal. 

The  first  place  at  which  we  alighted,  and  to 
which  we  had  been  politely  favored  with  an  uncere 
monious  invitation,  was  the  Til  Villa.  This  is  the 
residence  of  an  English  gentleman,  situated  at  a 
small  distance  from  the  city,  upon  the  sunny  side  of 
one  of  those  hills,  which  slope  up  so  gradually  as  to 
be  capable  of  cultivation,  especially  when  thrown 


52  GEORGE    CANNING. 

off  into  parapets,  as  in  the  present  instance.  This 
villa  is  quite  in  the  Italian  style  ;  the  grounds  are 
laid  off  with  a  strict  regard  to  beauty  and  effect ;  and 
though  the  rigid  utilitarian  would  find  but  little 
here  to  applaud,  yet  the  lover  of  flowers,  of  the  green 
shade,  and  the  sparkling  stir  of  waters,  might 
easily  be  in  a  rapture.  In  the  centre  of  the  garden 
towers  a  majestic  til,  one  of  the  indigenous  ever 
green  forest  trees  of  the  island,  ingens  arbos,  faci- 
emque  similima  lauro.  This  tree  has  given  name 
to  the  place,  though  its  right  so  to  do,  might  well 
be  questioned  by  a  venerable  chestnut  standing  near, 
and  measuring,  with  its  neighbor,  over  thirty  feet  in 
circumference. 

This  villa  derives  a  melancholy  interest  as 
having  been  the  scene  of  the  tragical  death  of 
George  Canning,  a  captain  in  the  British  Navy,  and 
eldest  son  of  the  late  distinguished  Premier  of 
that  name.  He  had  come  to  this  villa  with  a  party 
of  gentlemen  to  dine, — had  been  playing  at  racket, 
and  being  somewhat  exhausted,  had  thrown  him 
self,  for  a  moment's  repose,  upon  the  sofa,  on  which 
I  am  now  sitting  to  sketch  this  note.  But  being 
heated,  he  soon  left  the  apartment,  and  went,  unper- 
ceived  by  any  one,  to  the  pool,  a  place  convenient 
in  many  respects  for  bathing. 

When  the  table  was  announced,  the  host  looked 
around  for  the  guest,  in  honor  of  whom  the  enter 
tainment  was  intended,  but  he  was  not  in  his  place. 


BACHELOR.  53 

Inquiry  was  raised,  a  search  commenced,  when 
coming  to  the  pool,  they  discovered  the  pale  form — 
but  the  noble  spirit — of  Canning  had  fled  forever ! 

Tears  and  lamentations,  and  the  kindly  efforts  of 
affectionate  grief,  were  unavailing.  The  hall  of 
festivity  was  wrapt  in  sorrow,  and  many  a  heart 
that  came  there  gay,  retired  to  weep.  As  died  the 
lamented  father,  so  perished  here,  still  more  sud 
denly,  the  beloved  son.  Their  remains  may 
moulder  in  the  untimely  grave,  but  their  virtues  are 
stamped  with  immortality. 

The  Til  Villa  begins  to  wear  the  aspect  of 
neglect  and  decay.  Its  proprietor  is  one  of  those 
men  who  tread  life's  circle  alone.  This  may  do 
perhaps  through  half  the  round,  while  the  heart 
can  look  abroad,  but  then  the  other  half  becomes  a 
listless  solitude.  The  very  objects  in  which  the 
solitary  once  delighted,  and  in  which,  through  his 
more  salient  years,  he  placed  his  pride  and  trust, 
will  in  age  lose  their  attraction,  and  disgust  him 
with  their  frivolous  memories.  There  is  but  one 
object  that  can  perpetually  interest  and  charm  the 
heart, — but  one  that  can  fill  the  native  void  in  its 
affections, — but  one  that  can  render  nature  truly 
beautiful  and  lovely :  for  Eden  itself  was  but 


a  wild, 


And  man,  the  hermit,  sighed,  till  woman  smiled." 

All  this  is,  perhaps,  as  much  as  I  can  consistently 
say,  committing  myself  the  mistake  which  I  depre- 


54  WATER-FALL. 

cate  in  others.  But  I  cannot  pen  here  a  deeper 
truth,  than  that  an  individual  vitally  consults  his 
happiness,  honor  and  wealth,  by  an  early  union 
with  one,  who  may  perhaps  bring  to  him  no 
dower,  except  her  gentle  virtues  and  affections. 

But  I  forget  our  ponies,  and  the  distant  water 
fall,  to  which  we  were  bound.  From  the  til  we 
wound  up  the  steep  hills,  which  tower  in  quick  and 
long  succession  above  each  other ;  but  before  we  had 
reached  the  object  of  our  curiosity,  a  part  of  our 
company  were  so  well  satisfied  with  a  scene  we  had 
met,  that  like  a  wise  man  looking  out  for  a  wife, 
they  would  go  no  farther.  The  object  which 
arrested  them  was  a  section  of  the  ravine,  which  in 
its  progress  to  the  ocean,  intersects  the  eastern  end 
of  Funchal ;  and  which,  from  the  projecting  height 
where  they  were  standing,  appeared  to  divide  the 
very  foundation  of  the  island.  In  its  lowest  depth 
sparkled  a  current,  which  any  miser  would  have 
taken  for  a  stream  of  silver.  The  imagination  of  a 
believer  in  a  central  sphere  might  have  taken  this 
mysterious  chasm,  as  the  authorized  medium  of 
communication  with  his  inner  world ;  and  his 
fancy  would  have  converted  the  streamlet,  which 
wanders  through  it,  into  the  narrow  and  glittering 
outline  of  its  concealed  ocean. 

Leaving  our  charmed  companions  to  wonder 
and  speculate  at  will,  Lieut.  L.  and  myself  proceed 
ed  for  the  Water-Fall.  After  ascending  several  dif- 


WATER -FALL.  55 

ficult  elevations,  we  arrived  at  the  foot  of  one,  from 
the  top  of  which,  our  native  guide  informed  us,  the 
Fall. might  be  seen.  But  how  to  get  there,  was  now 
the  question  ;  for  the  ascent  was  entirely  too  steep 
for  our  ponies,  and  seemed  likely  to  prove  too  much 
for  our  strength.  But  the  force  of  curiosity  and  the 
pride  of  conquest  urged  us  on ;  so  we  dismounted, 
and  when  an  upright  posture  became  impracticable, 
resorted  to  our  hands  and  knees ;  and  by  catching 
to  this  stone  and  that  shrub,  we  at  last  drew  our 
selves  up  to  the  top.  The  cascade  instantly  burst 
on  our  view, — it  was  a  magnificent  sight — a  large 
sheet  of  water,  falling  unbroken  three  hundred  and 
fifty  feet. 

From  the  position  which  we  occupied,  it  appear 
ed  to  burst  from  the  solid  side  of  the  mountain; 
there  was  no  warning  of  its  coming — no  "  note  of 
preparation" — nothing  that  led  you  to  expect  the 
splendid  exhibition ;  it  rushed  upon  you  at  once, 
unnotified  and  unprepared  ;  and  when  you  saw  it 
plunge  down  its  terrific  way,  to  the  then  concealed 
gulf,  it  was  as  if  that  were  the  all  of  its  magnificent 
existence.  It  appeared  a  miracle  in  nature — a  river 
without  a  source — a  fall  without  an  admonitory 
rapid.  The  rushing  wave  of  Niagara  prepares  you 
for  the  plunging  thunder  of  its  might. — It  speaks  to 
shore  and  cliff,  and  echoes  the  footsteps  of  its  com 
ing  in  the  caverned  rock.  You  expect  its  wild  leap, 
and  wait  with  awe  the  crushing  force  of  its  gigantic 


56  SPORTS. 

strength;  but  this  mysterious  wonder  in  the  fall 
of  waters  dashes  down,  without  having  awak 
ened  an  idea  of  its  existence.  It  deigns  to  exhibit 
only  its  splendid  flight — its  wings  are  spread  and 
furled  unseen. 

Before  our  return  we  renewed  one  of  the  recrea 
tions  of  boyhood,  but  upon  rather  an  enlarged  scale. 
We  disengaged,  successively  a  number  of  rocks, 
weighing  several  tons,  and  saw  them  sweep  their 
resistless  course  to  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  When 
they  reached  their  shaking  bourne,  they  sent  up  a 
crash  of  echoing  thunder,  that  lingered  long  in  sullen 
reverberation  among  the  hills.  We  hove  off 
the  very  mass  upon  which  we  had  been  incau 
tiously  standing : — it  was  dashed  into  a  thousand 
fragments  upon  a  projecting  ledge,  while  each 
went  indiscoverably  beneath,  in  muttering  wrath. 
I  thought  of  the  erring  spirits,  smitten  from  heaven's 
verge  to  tartarean  night.  Bidding  the  water-fall 
adieu,  we  returned  to  our  companions,  whom  we 
found  lingering  around  the  very  spot  where  we  had 
left  them.  Nature  never  tires ;  in  the  magnificent 
or  the  minute,  the  severe  or  subdued,  she  is  an  ex- 
haustless  source  of  interest. 

Our  descent,  which  we  commenced  after  partak 
ing  of  an  excellent  lunch,  and  a  short  repose, 
brought  us  into  the  neighborhood  of  the  Mount 
Church,  to  which  we  paid  at  least  the  respect  of 
curiosity.  This  edifice  is  one  of  the  first  objects 


OUR    LADY.  57 

which  attract  the  eye  in  approaching  the  harbor.  It 
is  situated  half-way  up  the  mountain  which  ascends 
in  the  rear  of  the  city,  and  commands  an  elevation 
of  two  thousand  feet.  It  is  surrounded  by  a  fresh 
chesnut  grove,  in  which  you  mount  to  it  by  sixty 
granite  steps.  The  style  of  the  building  is  modern, 
and  not  destitute  of  architectural  pretension.  As  we 
approached  the  altar,  the  priest,  who  was  directing 
our  attention  to  the  points  of  strongest  interest,  and 
who  had  hitherto  evinced  an  air  of  utmost  ease  and 
playfulness,  seemed  suddenly  impressed  with  a 
strange  reverence.  I  shall  never  forget  the  incom 
municable  solemnity  which  pervaded  his  counte 
nance,  as  he  slowly  drew  aside  the  rich  curtain  that 
hung  over  the  altar-piece,  and  breathed  in  a  whisper 
— Nossa  Senhora  do  Monte. 

The  object  of  his  deep  devotion  was  a  little  im 
age  of  our  lady;  which  resembled  in  every  respect 
a  child's  doll,  only  its  ornaments  and  attire  were 
more  expensive,  than  are  ordinarily  thrown  away 
upon  a  toy.  A  string  of  beads,  in  imitation  of 
jewels,  went  Around  its  filleted  head,  and  a  number 
of  tinsel-stars  bespangled  its  little  petticoat.  I  could 
hardly  preserve  my  gravity  of  countenance,  while 
looking  at  this  Nossa  Senhora  do  Monte.  Yet  it 
seems  she  is  an  object  of  peculiar  veneration  and 
homage  here ;  on  her  festival  day,  half  the  popula 
tion  of  the  island  go  in  solemn  procession  to  kneel 
at  her  feet.  Those  who  would  be  classed  among 


58  DYING    PLEDGE. 

the  most  devout ;  or  who  may  have  committed  some 
sin  of  deeper  dye,  in  their  earnestness  to  secure  her 
compassionate  grace,  mount  the  sixty  stone  steps, 
which  lead  to  her  sanctuary,  upon  their  naked 
knees. 

The  following  circumstance,  which  came  to  me 
from  a  source  too  credible  to  admit  of  doubt,  strik 
ingly  exhibits  the  spirit  in  which  this  sainted  lady 
is  regarded.  A  mother,  being  about  to  depart  this 
life,  summoned  her  daughter  to  her  bedside,  and 
told  her  that  in  her  younger  years  she  had  commit 
ted  one  unconfessed  and  unatoned-for  offence,  and 
that  she  could  not  leave  the  world  in  peace  and  with 
a  consolatory  hope  of  heaven,  till  she  had  given  her 
a  solemn  promise  that  in  expiation  of  this  sin,  she 
would  on  the  birth-day  of  her  eighteenth  year,  at 
twelve  o'clock  at  night,  climb  the  steps  of  this  church 
upon  the  bare  knee.  The  pledge  was  given,  and 
in  a  few  months  from  this  time,  will  be  redeemed 
with  the  most  religious  punctuality.  I  subsequently 
met  the  young  lady,  who  is  to  perform  this  pain 
ful  penance  ;  and  might  perhaps  have  quoted  to  her 
the  first  Commandment,  had  there  been  any  proba 
bility  of  her  justly  appreciating  its  awful  sanctions. 

Far  be  it  from  me  however,  wantonly  to  disturb 
the  performance  of  a  vow,  given  even  in  a  spirit  of  reli 
gious  delusion — or  to  trifle  with  a  pledge,  which  may 
have  served  to  console  the  dying.  When  that  fear 
ful  hour  shall  become  a  reality  with  me,  God  only 


STAR    OF    BETHLEHEM.  59 

knows  the  anxieties  it  may  awaken,  or  what  infinite 
need  this  trembling  spirit  may  be  in  of  the  smallest 
ray,  to  relieve  its  gathering  doubts  and  sorrows. 
Yet  I  would  not  descend  to  the  grave  under  the 
light  of  a  false  trust — under  the  guidance  of  a  star 
that  is  to  vanish  away  in  perpetual  night.  But  there 
is  one  star,  that  will  never  disappoint  the  hope 
which  it  awakens  ; — its  ray  is  never  dimmed,  and 
it  knows  no  going  down  ; — its  cheering  light  streams 
on  through  ages  of  change  and  tempest :  the  earth 
may  be  darkened,  the  foundations  of  nature  broken 
up,  and  the  planets  shaken  from  their  spheres,  but 
this  sweet  star  will  still  smile  from  its  high  and  holy 
dwelling.  No  wonder  the  Poet  of  truth  and  piety 
determined  to  celebrate 

First  in  night's  diadem. 
The  Star,  the  Star  of  Bethlehem, 


CHAPTER  V. 

Madeira  continued— Visit  to  the  Convent  of  Santa  Clara— Introduc 
tion  to  a  beautiful  Nun — Her  Involuntary  Confinement — Personal 
Attractions — Mental  Accomplishments — Proposed  Scheme  of  Es 
cape. 

I  MUST  now  introduce  the  reader  to  an  individ 
ual  who  has  been  for  several  years  an  object  of  deep 
admiration  and  sympathy  among  visitors  at  Ma 
deira.  This  person  is  Donna  Maria  Clementina, — a 
nun  in  the  Convent  of  Santa  Clara.  She  was  im 
mured  in  this  prison  at  the  early  age  of  ten,  by  the 
wicked  cruelty  of  a  step-mother ; — her  tears  and 
prayers  were  of  no  avail ; — thirteen  long  years  have 
now  passed  away,  and  she  still  gazes  on  the  dull 
wall  of  the  convent,  and  sighs  for  the  light  and  free 
air  of  heaven.  Her  situation  has  been  partially  re 
lieved  by  the  interest  which  her  youth  and  beauty 
have  awakened, — the  companions  of  her  early  years 
have  never  forgotten  her,  and  now,  when  inquired 
of  for  the  most  beautiful  lady  of  the  island,  they 
will  take  you  to  this  convent,  and  call  to  its  impass 
able  grate,  the  blushing  Maria. 

Another  circumstance  has  cast  a  momentary 
smile  into  the  solitude  of  this  sweet  creature. — 
When  the  constitutional  government  was  establish- 


HOPES    BLIGHTED.  61 

ed  in  Portugal,  an  order  was  issued  by  the  Cortes, 
that  the  doors  of  all  religious  houses  should  be  un 
barred.  The  consequence  was,  that  Santa  Clara 
was  freely  visited  by  those  who  had  affection  or  curi 
osity  to  be  gratified  in  that  form.  Among  others 
who  availed  themselves  of  this  privilege,  was  a 
young  and  accomplished  officer  in  the  Portuguese 
navy.  He  saw  Maria,  and  felt  at  once,  as  every 
one  must,  the  charm  of  her  beauty.  She  returned 
his  affection,  with  a  gentleness  and  sincerity,  which 
showed  the  delicacy  and  truth  of  her  heart.  She 
was  now  free  from  the  authority  of  a  cruel  parent, 
and  of  the  coerced  obligations  of  the  veil :  and  she 
engaged  to  receive  the  hand  of  the  gallant  officer, 
whose  heart  she  had  so  unintentionally  won. 

The  wedding  day  was  appointed,  and  she  left 
the  convent  to  mingle  with  her  friends  a  short  time, 
before  her  happy  union.  But  during  this  interval 
she  was  taken  seriously  ill, — the  excitement  of  society 
came  with  a  too  sudden  power  upon  one  of  her 
susceptible  nature, — the  wedding  day  was  deferred 
— fatally  deferred  ! — for  before  its  arrival,  the  con 
stitutional  parliament  was  forcibly  dissolved,  the 
liberating  act  of  the  Cortes  revoked,  and  Maria  re 
manded  back  in  tears  and  despair  to  her  solitary 
cell. 

He  in  whom  she  had  wound  up  her  gentle  affec 
tions,  and  who  had  fondly  identified  her  with  the 
hopes  and  happiness  of  his  coming  years,  was  now 
6 


62  SUITOR    DEAD. 

debarred  all  access  to  her  presence.  Yet  would  he 
ascend  a  rock  which  towered  near  the  convent,  and 
wave  his  white  handkerchief,  and  joyfully  catch  the 
answering  token  of  hers,  as  it  gleamed  from  the  grate 
of  her  high  windgw  ;  and  in  the  still  night,  he  might 
often  be  seen  on  that  cliff  making  the  expressive 
signal,  and  by  the  light  of  the  full  clear  moon,  exult- 
ingly  discovering,  at  the  shadowy  grate,  the  replying 
evidence  of  an  affection  that  could  outwatch  the 
morning  star. 

He  was  soon  ordered  by  his  government  upon 
a  foreign  station,  where  he  fell  an  early  victim  to 
the  diseases  of  the  climate  ;  and  there  is  now  no  evi 
dence  of  his  having  been  here,  except  what  lives  in 
the  melancholy  remembrance  of  poor  Maria ;  and 
there  seems  to  be  nothing  here  in  sympathy  with 
her,  in  her  disappointment  and  grief,  but  the  moan 
ing  of  the  wave,  as  it  dies  on  the  broken  shore. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  her  history,  to  whom  Mrs. 
R.,  Dr.  M.  and  myself  were  introduced  this  morning, 
by  the  amiable  Miss  S.  E.  of  Madeira.  Upon  ring 
ing  the  outer  bell  of  the  convent,''  we  were  conducted 
to  a  well  furnished  parlor  in  the  second  loft,  com 
municating  with  the  more  secluded  interior,  by  a 
double  grate.  The  lady  Abbess  was  called,  permis 
sion  to  speak  with  Maria  solicited,  and  the  name 
of  Miss  E.  sent  in,  as  an  attraction  that  never  fails 
to  bring  her  forth. 

Maria  had  no  toilet  to  make,  no  curls  to  arrange, 


CHARM    OF    PERSON.  63 

and  she  was  soon  seen  approaching  the  grate,  with 
that  easy  and  suhdued  air,  which  refinement  and 
grief  only  can  mould.  Her  eye  kindled  instantly 
as  it  met  that  of  her  friend,  and  though  our  unex 
pected  presence  seemed  at  first  slightly  to  discon 
cert  her,  yet  it  was  only  a  momentary  embarrass 
ment,  which  bespeak  the  retiring  delicacy  of  her 
nature.  We  were  all  immediately  at  ease,  and  she 
was  speaking  to  each,  in  a  tone  so  cheerful  and  ani 
mated,  that  we  quite  forgat  the  sorrows,  which  had 
so  darkly  overshadowed  her  life. 

I  stepped  silently  to  a  position  where  I  could 
study  with  less  exposure,  the  sweet  being  before  us. 
Her  veil  was  drawn  aside,  and  she  was  telling  Mrs. 
R.  of  the  glimmering  hope  which  still  lingered  in  her 
solitude.  I  have  met  before  with  many  a  face  justly 
regarded  as  lovely,  but  never  with  one  of  such  serene 
expressive  beauty.  This  indescribable  charm  was 
confined  to  no  particular  feature, — it  dwelt  like  a 
sweet  dream  upon  the  whole  countenance, — each 
turn  and  shade  and  swelling  line  contributed  to  its 
perfection.  Yet  there  was  no  want  of  distinct  ex 
pression, — her  full  blue  eye  alone  contained  the 
breaking  mystery  of  a  world, — all  the  voiceless 
thoughts,  feelings,  hopes  and  desires  of  the  spirit 
within,  seemed  to  float  there  in  melancholy  life. 

The  sentiments  of  the  spectator  followed  in  quick 
sympathy,  each  token  of  this  mute  oracle  of  her 
heart.  If  its  glance  fell  to  the  earth,  he  thought  of 


64  EFFECT    OF    GRIEF. 

broken  hopes  and  blighted  expectations ;  if  it  turned 
to  heaven,  he  felt  the  aspirations  of  a  confidence 
which  no  sorrows  can  wholly  quench  ;  if  it  dwelt 
for  a  moment  on  him,  he  would  find  himself  in 
smiles  or  tears,  just  as  its  look  and  tone  might  be. 

Around  her  dewy  lips  dwelt  a  wonted  smile, 
which  appeared  as  if  it  had  been  checked  and 
shaded  in  its  sunny  flow,  by  some  counter  sen 
timent  of  grief,  and  yet  her  lips  did  not  suffer,  in  the 
breathing  sweetness  of  their  expression,  by  these 
mingling  emotions.  You  felt  no  intense  desire  to 
approach  those  lips  too  nearly,  and  yet  you  could 
not  turn  away  without  looking  again  to  the  pensive, 
half-formed  smile  which  slumbered  there. 

The  oval  outline  of  her  cheek  had  been  very 
slightly  invaded  by  her  sorrows,  though  it  still 
retained  its  delicate  transparency,  and  was  ever  and 
anon  mantling  with  exquisite  life  and  loveliness. 
The  exulting  thought,  that  she  might  one  day  be 
free,  would  now  and  then  rush  to  her  glowing  cheek, 
and  gleam  among  its  paler  hues,  like  that  deceptive 
flush,  with  which  the  hectic  sometimes  beautifies 
the  dying  ;  and  then  the  chilling  suggestions  of 
doubt  and  despair,  would  blanch  it  again  to  its 
marble  whiteness. 

Her  forehead,  from  which  her  raven  hair  was 
rolled  back,  rose  in  a  fullness  and  serenity  of  aspect, 
that  imparted  a  feminine  dignity  to  the  more  tender 
and  playful  features  of  her  face.  It  was  a  brow 


FEELINGS.  65 

that  bespake  intellect,  without  any  of  its  sternness, 
arid  a  serene  enthusiasm,  without  any  of  its  impa 
tient  passion.  She  seemed  as  one  formed  to  please, 
and  sensible  to  the  gentlest  impulse,  yet  capable,  in 
an  hour  of  trial,  of  leaning  upon  her  own  energies, 
and  of  sustaining  herself  upon  the  strength  of  a 
spirit,  which  no  misfortune  can  wholly  subdue.  Still 
she  appeared  as  susceptible,  sweet  and  child-like,  in 
her  being,  as  if  she  had  been  wholly  ignorant  of 
this  undying  resource  in  herself. 

Her  form  was  in  keeping  with  the  delicacy  and 
richness  of  her  mind  and  countenance.  The  pro 
portions  were  moulded  into  that  flowing  curve, 
which  fills  the  eye,  without  surpassing  the  decision 
of  its  chastened  taste.  Her  whole  person,  in  its 
more  slender  and  full  expressions,  was  a  rare  and 
happy  triumph  of  nature  ; — no  art  could  improve  it, 
and  no  heart  be  insensible  to  the  exquisite  perfec 
tion  of  its  symmetry  and  beauty. 

Such  is  only  a  faint  outline  of  the  animated 
being,  near  whom  I  now  stood,  as  one  enchanted  in 
some  dream  of  immortal  loveliness  and  grief.  If 
the  power  had  then  been  lent  me,  the  grate  of  that 
convent  had  fallen  in  twisted  fragments,  and  I  half 
accuse  myself  now,  for  not  having  tried  the  wrench 
ing  force  of  my  arms  upon  it,  although  the  most 
entire  success  would  have  been  regarded  by  many, 
merely  as  an  act  of  romantic  folly.  But  cold  must 
the  heart  be,  that  could  turn  away  from  that  grate, 

6* 


66  ESCAPE. 

without  being  kindled,  and  filled  with  indignant 
regret.  I  never  yet  could  see  woman  in  tears,  without 
being  deeply  moved.  Man  in  his  prison,  may  busy 
himself  in  the  projected  and  daring  intentions  of  an 
escape,  but  these  bold  and  hardy  adventures  are 
above  the  cope  and  bearing  of  the  timid  and  retiring 
female :  she  might,  perhaps,  nourish  them  silently 
in  her  heart,  yet  when  she  came  to  their  execution, 
her  diffident  hand  would  fail  in  its  perilous  office. 

Her  voice  possessed  a  singular  sweetness,  and 
liquid  fullness  of  tone ;  its  modulations  came  warb 
ling  on  the  ear  like  the  musical  flow  of  a  rich  harp- 
string  ;  it  was  a  breathing  harmony,  living  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  melting  away  in  the  soft  atmosphere, 
which  her  presence  created.  It  appeared  to  possess 
a  mellowing  and  pervading  influence,  bathing  her 
lighted  countenance,  and  steeping  in  music  each 
eloquent  feature.  It  resembled,  in  this  spreading 
sweetness,  the'  flowing  of  the  dew-drop  over  the 
delicate  veins  of  the  violet. 

Yet  Maria  listened  eagerly  to  the  ingenious  sug 
gestions  of  Mrs.  R.  respecting  an  escape,  and  deemed 
it,  in  the  shape  contemplated,  as  practicable.  But 
what  could  she  do,  provided  this  escape  was 
effected  ;  there  was  no  concealment  in  Madeira,  that 
could  long  secure  her  from  the  searching  pursuit  of 
her  oppressors,  and  she  could  not  fly  away  unpro 
tected  into  a  land  of  strangers.  Mrs.  R.  was  ready 
to  offer  her  the  protection  and  patronage  of  a  sister, 


SYMPATHY.  67 

but  her  connection  with  a  public  ship,  and  with  the 
commander  of  that  ship,  forbade  for  the  present,  this 
generous  expression  of  sympathy ;  besides,  Maria 
had  too  much  delicacy  to  allow  her  liberation  to 
involve  her  friend  in  any  embarrassment.  I  re 
gretted  for  once,  that  it  was  not  in  my  power  to 
absolve  myself,  from  the  obligations  and  responsibili 
ties  of  a  commission  in  the  navy.  I  know  not  that 
the  beautiful  creature,  would  have  taken  the  adven 
turous  flight  with  me,  but  sure  I  am,  that  I  would 
not  have  parted  with  such  a  prize  for  all  the  pearls 
of  Omer,  and  the  gems  of  Golconda. 

These  sentiments  of  admiration  were  by  no 
means  confined  to  myself.  Dr.  M.  in  this  animated 
interchange  of  thoughts  with  the  lovely  captive,  had 
unconsciously  caught  the  pleasing  infection  ;  indeed, 
it  could  not  be  otherwise  with  a  man  of  his  discri 
minating  taste  and  fine  susceptibilities ;  and  then 
the  object  of  our  sympathy  and  affection  was  before 
us,  so  lovely,  helpless,  and  surpassingly  beautiful ; 
a  heart  that  never  moved  before  would  have  melted 
then. 

I  wish  I  could  trace  the  various  turns  which  her 
conversation  took,  and  the  refined  mental  accom 
plishments  which  it  betrayed.  The  varied  topics 
upon  which  her  brilliant  imagination  lighted,  she 
instantly  animated  with  the  very  life  of  her  feelings. 
Silence  and  solitude,  with  the  contemplative  habits 
which  they  bring,  seemed  to  have  attuned  her  mind 


68  PARTING. 

into  harmony  with  the  most  pure  and  ethereal 
sphere  of  thought.  Her  spirit  had  a  home,  there  far 
above  the  tumult,  and  strife,  and  sorrows  of  earth. 

But  our  parting  moment  had  now  come,  yet  we 
did  not  go  without  a  token  of  Maria's  affectionate 
regard.  She  put  into  the  hand  of  each  a  cluster  of 
fresh  flowers.  Among  those  which  she  presented  to 
Mrs.  R.  were  several  of  her  own  fabrication,  but 
so  delicately  penciled,  you  could  not  have  told  them 
from  the  living  blossoms,  with  which  they  were  inter 
twined.  Mrs.  R.  tendered  her  in  return  an  elegant 
ring,  on  which  were  appropriately  represented  two 
clasped  hands  in  cameo.  As  for  myself,  I  had 
nothing  about  my  person  indicative  of  my  feelings, 
except  two  hearts  cut  in  cornelion,  and  so  peculiarly 
united,  that  a  destruction  of  one,  must  be  the  ruin  of 
the  other.  These  little  offerings  Maria  accepted  with 
a  look  of  gratified  sadness  ;  and  now,  as  we  breathed 
our  adieu,  and  turned  to  go,  her  small  white  hand 
came  quickly  through  the  grate  to  Mrs.  R.,  and 
before  it  was  withdrawn,  we  each  pressed  it  to  our 
lips,  and  then  wound  off 

"With  lingering  step,  and  slow." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  singular  Marriage — Cathedral — Clergy — Weighing  a  Protestant — 
The  proscribed  Fidalgo— Camancha  Villa— Its  Lady— The  Ribei- 
ro — A  Sleeping  Sentinel — Force  of  Human  Sympathy — Mystery 
of  Sleep. 

A  SMALL  party  of  us  left  the  ship  to-day,  to  dine 
with  Mr.  B.,  at  his  Camancha  Villa.  On  reaching 
the  shore  we  were  met  by  a  little  girl,  who  came 
running  up  to  us,  with  an  eye  full  of  laughter.  I 
could  not  at  first  account  for  her  delight,  but  it 
seemed  that  she  sought  in  smiles,  what  many  seek 
in  tears.  When  the  little  boon  which  she  asked, 
simply  por  sua  saude — for  the  sake  of  your  salva 
tion — reached  her  hand,  off  with  it  she  ran  to  a 
matronly  looking  person,  in  the  most  simple  attire, 
who  received  it  with  a  grateful  countenance.  It 
appears  this  lady  is  the  mother  of  the  girl,  and  in 
her  more  youthful  and  romantic  years,  gave  the  very 
highest  evidence  of  the  bewildering  power  of  the 
"  capricious  passion,"  for  though  of  a  respectable 
family,  she  gave  her  heart  and  hand  to  a  blind 
beggar— 

"  The  current  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth," — 

and  lived  with  him  in  a  small  cave,  till  his  death, 


70  .  PRIESTS. 

an  event  which  occurred  a  few  years  after  their 
marriage.  This  playful  child  was  theirs,  and  now 
supports  her  forsaken  mother,  hy  smiling  you  into 
a  benevolent  humor,  and  then  taking  your  cheerful 
offering  to  one,  whom  all  should  regard  with  cha 
rity,  who  believe  in  the  resistless  force  of  love. 

We  now  entered  the  cathedral,  and  found  the 
priests  extremely  polite  and  attentive  ;  indeed,  they 
could  not  with  a  good  grace  be  otherwise,  for  they 
had  been  telling  the  lower  orders  of  the  population 
— who  regard  them  as  little  less  than  oracles — that 
we  had  been  sent  of  heaven,  to  break  up  the  alarm 
ing  blockade  of  Don  Pedro,  and  afford  an  access 
to  provisions,  which  had  begun  to  grow  scarce  in 
the  island.  We  had,  indeed,  broken  up  the  block 
ade,  but  I  seriously  question  whether  our  commis 
sion  emanated  from  a  higher  source,  than  the  presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,  much  less  could  it  be 
regarded  as  an  expression  of  divine  displeasure, 
towards  the  ambitious  designs  of  the  ex-emperor  of 
Brazil,  or  of  fostering  favor,  towards  the  rivited  des 
potism  of  his  brother  Don  Miguel,  or  of  holy  sanc 
tion,  towards  the  political  influence  of  a  priesthood, 
whose  power  is  here  based  on  the  most  humiliating 
ignorance  and  superstition. 

The  cathedral  is  a  large  structure  of  no  exte 
rior  pretension,  in  the  modern  style,  and  lined  with 
many  pictures  of  the  dying  and  the  dead.  Among 
these  paintings,  one,  from  its  more  conspicuous 


CARVALHAL    VILLA.  71 

position  and  characteristic  design,  instantly  caught 
my  attention.  It  held  forth  in  strong  relief  the 
most  unevenly  balanced  scales  ever  known  since 
the  weighing  of  man's  prospects  of  heaven.  In  one 
lay  a  good  favored  Catholic,  plump  down  to  the 
counter,  solid  and  sure ;  in  the  other,  an  unlucky 
Protestant,  keeled  up  in  hopeless  despair.  He  had 
been  laid  in  the  Jesuitical  balance,  and  found  want 
ing.  We  might  smile  at  this  symbol  of  bigotry, 
were  it  not  that  it  whimsically  forestalls  the  deci 
sions  of  the  Judgment  day. 

We  now  mounted  ponies  for  Camancha,  distant 
six  or  seven  miles.  The  road  which  we  took  led 
past  the  magnificent  villa  of  Seignor  Joas  de  Car- 
valhal,  the  richest  fidalgo  of  the  island.  Having 
in  our  company  a  gentleman  quite  at  home  there,  we 
halted,  and  dismounting,  entered  a  heavy  iron  gate 
whose  rusty  bolts  spoke  of  change  and  misfortune. 
The  winding  vistas  of  the  orange,  lemon,  myrtle, 
and  bannana,  with  the  reeling  vine  and  fragrant 
flower,  opened  before  us  in  tropical  luxuriance. 
To  the  eye  of  one  just  from  a  frost-bitten  clime,  it 
was  as  the  first  blush  of  Eden  to  the  eye  of  Adam. 

Through  the  green  depths  rippled  a  stream,  that 
had  been  induced  from  the  distant  mountain. 
Here  it  fell  in  a  glittering  cascade ;  there  it  supplied 
a  calm  lake,  upon  which  floated  a  swan  joyously, 
as  if  ignorant  of  the  exiled  and  unhappy  condition 
of  its  lord.  Alas  for  him  !  a  man  of  noble  qualities, 


72  CAMANCHAi 

whose  munificent  hospitality  was  in  keeping  with 
his  wealth ;  but  he  was  suspected  of  entertaining 
principles,  that  breathed  too  warmly  of  freedom,  and 
was  forced  to  fly,  leaving  his  immense  estates  to 
confiscation  and  plunder.  I  saw  but  a  few  days 
since,  a  number  of  the  hundred  pipes  of  wine  found 
in  his  cellar,  and  which  had  been  seized  by  the 
government,  exposed  to  sale.  But  no  purchasers 
appeared ;  they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
"  Naboth's  vineyard."  Ahab  might  revel  in  its 
sweets,  and  share  alone  the  fruits  of  his  crime. 
After  a  saddened  walk  of  two  hours  through  the 
neglected  park,  the  deserted  mansion,  the  silent 
chapel,  and  forsaken  summer-house,  we  whispered 
a  deep  denunciation  to  tyranny  and  departed. 

We  were  soon  at  the  Carnancha  Villa,  which  is 
nestled  in  a  small  verdant  valley,  and  sheltered  from 
the  drifting  winds  by  a  circling  range  of  densely 
wooded  steps.  It  is  just  such  a  spot  as  one  would 
choose,  who  wishes  to  retire  from  the  dusty  jar  of 
the  world,  and  drink  in  the  fresh  spirit  of  nature. 
It  is  in  perfect  consonance  with  the  tranquil  cast  of 
her  taste,  who  fixed  on  this  spot,  not  so  much  from 
a  settled  disaifection  to  the  more  stirring  scenes  of 
life,  as  the  desire  of  an  occasional  refuge,  where  she 
might  indulge  her  classical  and  contemplative 
habits.  I  have  seen  this  accomplished  lady  in  the 
circles  of  the  gay,  and  though  she  would  there 
enchain  the  capricious  waywardness  of  youth,  in  a 


DISASTER.  73 

sparkling  flow  of  thought,  yet  it  is  in  this  hushed 
place  that  she  seems  to  fill  the  full  measure  of  her 
sphere.  She  is  here  as  the  queen  of  night  moving 
through  the  silent  heaven. 

We  had  taken  our  walk  through  the  garden 
which,  like  that  of  Tasso's  muse, 

"Apriche  collinette,  ambrose  valle, 
Silve  e  spelonche  in  vista  offerse," 

where  the  plants  of  India,  Africa,  and  Mexico, 
breathe  their  mingling  perfume  :  we  had  seen  the 
little  boat  that  on  its  chrystal  element  trims  its  own 
sail  to  the  breeze,  and  the  gold-fish  sporting  in  the 
ripple  of  its  wake ; — we  had  traced  the  stream 
let  ever  murmuring  its  music  to  the  spirit  of  the 
place,  and  living  on  in  freshness  and  harmony 
when  decay  has  stricken  the  blossoming  year ; — 
the  festivities  of  the  day  were  over,  our  sentiments  of 
friendship  plighted,  and  now  the  purpling  twilight 
bade  us  depart.  Adieu  to  thee,  Camancha, — adieu  to 
thee,  fair  lady, — many  be  thy  years,  and  happy  as 
he  is  blest,  who  won  and  retains  thy  affections. 

On  our  return  we  crossed  the  ribeiro,  which 
intersects  the  eastern  end  of  the  city ;  it  now  shows 
itself  only  as  a  little  babbling  brook,  but  some  twenty 
years  past  lam  told  it  was  so  swollen  by  the  bursting 
of  a  cloud  in  the  mountains,  that  it  carried  orFiri  its  tor 
rent  sweep  a  hundred  dwellings  with  their  unwarned 
inhabitants.  It  occurred  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 


74  SENTRY. 

and  before  the  sleeper  could  awake  to  his  peril,  he 
was  whelmed  in  the  rushing  mass  of  ruin : 

lapides  adesos, 


Stirpesque  raptas,  et  pecus,  ct  doraos 
Volventis  una." 

The  gigantic  remains  of  a  church  are  still  shown 
as  the  sad  evidence  of  this  terrible  catastrophe, 
which  indeed  seems  to  have  anchored  itself  so  fright 
fully  in  the  recollections  of  the  people,  that  they 
speak  of  events  which  took  place  before  the  flood, 
and  leave  you  in  danger  of  confounding  the  mira 
cles  of  this  little  streamlet  with  the  destructions  of  the 
general  deluge. 

On  reaching  the  gate  which  communicates  with 
the  shore,  we  found  it  bolted,  and  a  sentry  sleeping 
beside  it,  with  as  much  composure  as  if  the  days  of 
hanging  and  shooting  for  this  defection  from  duty 
were  over.  His  gun  lay  beside  him,  wet  with  the 
dew  ;  and  even  his  dog,  whom  it  would  seem  he  had 
appointed  a  sort  of  deputy  watch,  did  not  feel  suffi 
ciently  the  responsibilities  of  his  trust  to  keep 
wholly  awake.  All  this  was  well  for  us,  not  that  it 
enabled  us  to  pass  the  gate,  but  the  poor  soldier  on 
awaking  was  so  happy  in  ascertaining  that  it  was 
not  the  patroll  who  had  caught  him  asleep,  that  he 
uncerimoniously  turned  the  key,  and  saved  us  the 
trouble  of  going  to  the  guard-house  for  a  pass. 
Poor  fellow  ! — let  him  sleep  and  take  his  rest ;  for 


SYMPATHY.  75 

what  is  life  to  him — what  its  thousand  sources  of 
wakefulness  and  interest.  His  days  moulder 
through  a  narrow  round  of  unmeaning  duties.  In 
peace  there  is  nothing  to  quicken  a  solitary  pulse ; 
and  if  war  come,  it  is  only  that  he  may  be  hacked 
to  pieces  for  the  ambition  of  another,  and  then  cast 
into  a  hospital  to  be  forgotten  and  die  ! 

My  feelings,  while  looking  at  the  condition  of 
this  poor  soldier,  would  alone  convince  me  of  the 
force  and  sacredness  of  human  sympathy.  We  are 
so  mysteriously  made  that  suffering  and  virtue,  in 
whatever  form  presented,  never  fail  to  excite  our 
pity  and  veneration.  Even  where  this  affecting 
trait  is  an  exception  to  all  the  other  characteristics  of 
the  individual,  still  we  admire  and  weep.  The 
tender  affection  of  Conrad  for  Medora  half  recon 
ciles  us  to  the  wild  life  of  the  Corsair;  and  we 
tremble  to  each  doubt  and  hope,  as  he  springs  from 
shore  to  cliff  to  greet  once  more — alas !  that 
changed  and  changeless  countenance.  We  yearn 
to  let  Othello  know  that  the  object  of  his  love  and 
fatal  jealousy  is  innocent,  and  that  lago  is  the 
wretch  on  whom  the  lightning  of  his  indignation 
should  fall.  We  rejoice  to  see  the  "  Birnarn-wood 
move  towards  Dunsinare,"  convincing  us  no  less 
than  Macbeth,  that  he  may  be  put  to  death  by 
"man  of  woman  born."  When  Romeo  with  his 
mattock  thunders  on  the  portal  of  the  tomb  in 
which  Juliet  sleeps,  we  hear  the  marble  break,  and 


76  AFFECTIONS. 

would  give  a  world  could  Juliet  hear  it  also.  When 
Gloucester  loses  his  eyes,  and  with  them,  his 
desire  of  life,  and  hires  a  poor  peasant,  as  he  sup 
poses,  to  lead  him  to  the  verge  of  the  precipice  that 
beetles  over  the  sea,  and  bidding  an  eternal  farewell 
to  the  world,  makes  the  desperate  leap  ;  it  is  quite 
as  difficult  to  persuade  us  as  it  was  him  that  he  has 
not  actually  fallen  many  a  fearful  fathom  down. 

This  sympathy  extends  beyond  our  own  species. 
Cowper  is  not  the  only  being  who  has  wept  over 
the  untimely  end  of  some  favorite  prisoner  of  the 
cage.  I  should  not  envy  a  man  his  sensibility  who 
could  be  at  ease,  and  hear  the  bleatings  of  a  lamb 
that  had  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  a  wolf.  Nor  is 
this  sympathy  confined  to  animal  existence.  The 
mariner  has  a  strange  affection  for  the  plank  that  has 
saved  him  from  a  watery  grave.  The  octagenerian 
looks  upon  his  old  familiar  cane  rather  as  a  com 
panion  than  a  support.  Even  the  dog  will  bark  at 
the  stone  that  has  rolled  too  carelessly  over  his  foot. 
Thus  are  we  strangely  linked  in  our  perceptions 
and  sympathies  with  all  the  animate  and  material 
objects  of  the  world ;  and  the  slightest  of  them 
may  often  strike  this  electric  chain  with  vivifying 
force. 

Enough  of  this  philosophizing  humor.  The 
night  wears  late — the  lamp  that  lights  this  vagrant 
page  burns  dimly  : — I  must  rest — must  sleep  : — 
strange  state  of  being — to  live,  yet  be  unconscious 


SLEEP.  77 

— to  breathe,  yet  feel  not  the  pulses  thrill — to  sigh, 
love,  smile  and  weep,  yet  be  insensible  to  the  quick 
presence  of  all  outward  things  : — would  that  one 
could  penetrate  this  state — reveal  its  mysteries — its 
deep,  tongueless  secrets : — does  it  resemble  the 
slumber  of  the  shroud  ?  or  do  we  there  dive  still 
deeper  from  the  realities  of  life  ?  how  shall  thai 
sleep  be  broken  up? — 

"  When  will  it  be  morn  in  the  grave !" 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Madeira  continued— Morning — Matins  of  Maria — Ride  to  the  Cur- 
ral— Stupendous  Scenery— Quiet  Hamlet — Force  of  Habit — 
Saint's  Day — Homage  of  Gun-Powder — Recollections  of  Home 
—Twilight— The  Vesper -Bell. 

NATURE  here  awakes  from  her  night's  repose 
with  a  freshness  and  vigor,  which  fill  one  with  the 
most  vivifying  sensations.  Each  mount  and  vale 
and  wood  and  water- fall  break  upon  you  with  an 
exulting  life,  that  calls  up  within  you  the  joyous 
and  irrepressible  feelings  of  your  earliest  years. 
Your  first  impulse  is  to  bury  yourself  in  some  more 
favored  recess,  or  ascend  some  height,  around  which, 
the  fragrant  earth  sends  up  the  incense  of  its  thou 
sand  altars.  To  gratify  these  feelings  in  their 
widest  scope,  we  started  this  morning,  with  the  fresh 
ening  light,  for  the  Curral — that  great  marvel  of 
Madeiran  scenery, 

We  were  well  mounted,  and  soon  moving  through 
the  high-walled  street  which  leads  past  the  convent 
of  Santa  Clara,  It  was  the  hour  of  Matins,  and 
the  early  prayer  of  the  beautiful  Maria  was  ascend 
ing  in  unison  with  the  pure  homage  of  nature,  to 
the  great  source  of  all  light  and  blessedness.  I  could 
have  stopped  and  listened  to  the  solemn  chant  that 
Stole  through  the  grate  of  the  chapel  window,  but 


MATINS    OF    MARIA.  79 

sterner  hearts  were  near  me,  and  I  must  move  on 
with  only  time  to  whisper  an  earnest  blessing  to  the 
unseen  worshiper  within.  Who  could  endure  to 
be  cut  off,  like  this  lovely  being,  in  the  first  flowing 
of  the  heart's  affections,  from  all  the  congenial 
objects  of  its  fervid  desire ; — never  to  mingle  in  the 
delights  of  social  endearment; — never  to  feel  the 
sweet  influences  of  the  varied  year  ; — never  to  see 
the  return  of  purpling  eve,  or 

"  Morn  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walk  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill." 

From  the  convent  we  passed  the  humble  church  of 
St.  Antonio,  and  thence  onward  and  upward  through 
a  continuous  series  of  vineyards,  all  sheltered  from 
the  chilling  effects  of  the  north  winds,  by  the  heights 
to  which  we  were  tending.  The  orange-tree  was  bend 
ing  under  its  golden  burden  ;  the  bannana  revealing 
between  the  bright  expanse  of  its  broad  leaves  its 
delicious  treasures  ;  and  the  low  winds,  which  had 
slept  amid  the  flowers  through  the  night,  were 
abroad,  scattering  the  perfume  of  their  gathered 
sweets.  A  mile  or  two  further  of  these  gradual 
ascents,  and  cultivation  ceased ;  the  vine,  save  here 
and  there,  could  not  find  soil  in  which  to  strike  its 
roots  ;  and  even  where  it  could  effect  this  foothold, 
was  chilled  into  sterility.  We  continued  on,  now  in 
a  zigzag  motion,  up  the  steep  height,  and  then  on  a 
path  of  frightful  narrowness  and  elevation  around 


80  COUNTRY. 

its  sharp  pinnacle,  till  our  steps  were  at  length  sus 
pended  on  the  verge  of  the  Curral. 

This  inland  wonder  is  a  valley  of  a  wild  ravine 
character,  lying  at  a  depth  of  three  thousand  feet 
beneath  the  cliff  on  which  we  stood,  and  surrounded 
on  all  sides  by  an  equal,  and  at  many  points,  by  a 
still  loftier  range  of  rocks.  Far  down  in  its  green 
bosom,  a  cluster  of  white  cottages  may  be  seen,  in 
the  midst  of  which  stands  the  delicate  church  of 
Nossa  Senhora  do  Livramento,  and  near  by,  the 
humble  mansion  of  the  goodly  padre.  These  habita 
tions,  from  our  elevated  position,  appeared  not  larger 
than  what  might  well  accommodate  the  prattlers 
of  the  nursery  ;  and  the  hawk,  which  wheeled  mid 
way,  dwindled  to  the  form  of  a  bird,  that  might  rock 
itself  to  slumber  in  a  rose-bud. 

The  quiet  aspect  of  this  little  village,  contrasted 
strangely  with  the  mountain  barrier  which  towered 
in  wildness  and  grandeur  around  it.  In  many  pla 
ces  these  precipices  dropped  to  the  bottom  with  an 
almost  perpendicular  front;  in  others,  they  were 
broken,  and  there  the  til  and  vinhatico  cast  below 
the  deep  umbrage  of  their  forest  gloom.  While  over 
the  wave-worn  steep,  rushed  some  stream  on  its  ex 
ulting  course,  to  the  torrent  that  called  to  it  from 
beneath.  It  was  a  place  where  the  thunder-cloud 
would  seem  most  at  home,  yet  as  the  calm  bow  will 
sometimes  attend  this  minister  of  sublime  terror,  so 


CURRAL.  81 

this  sweet  hamlet  smiled  out  from  its  terrific  dwell 
ing-place. 

We  now  commenced  our  descent  to  the  valley, 
which  we  reached  by  an  extremely  narrow  path, 
cut  along  the  steep  face  of  the  rocks,  and  requiring 
in  us  a  philosopher's  steadiness  of  brain,  and  a  rope- 
dancer's  dexterity  of  balance.  The  ingenuity  dis 
played  by  our  Burroqueros,  in  getting  down  our 
ponies,  was  quite  original,  and  but  for  the  perils  at 
tending  it,  would  have  been  burstingly  ludicrous. 
When  a  smooth  precipitous  descent  of  several  feet 
occurred,  where  the  animal  could  obtain  no  foot 
hold,  they  would  let  him  down  upon  his  patient 
haunches,  by  the  flowing  length  of  his  tail,  with 
many  appliances  of  a  steadying  character,  nicely 
adjusted  to  the  emergency  of  the  occasion.  This 
will  appear  about  as  credible  as  the  story  of  the  fly 
ing  horse  ;  but  if  there  never  be  a  greater  deviation 
from  truth,  exaggeration  and  falsehood  will  cease 
among  travelers. 

On  reaching  the  small  church  of  the  hamlet,  we 
found  a  tiny  flag  flying  from  something  like  a  liberty 
pole  in  its  court,  and  a  little  cannon  sending  out 
its  noisy  breath.  On  enquiring  for  the  occasion  of 
this  military  display,  we  were  informed  that  it  was 
in  honor  of  the  sainted  lady,  whose  image  we  now 
discovered  on  the  flapping  banner.  I  had  heard  of 
prayers  being  offered  to  saints,  but  the  homage  of 
gun-powder  was  a  novelty.  It  is  a  little  singular 


OZ  DESCENT. 

that  the  same  element  which  the  assassin  employs 
for  the  destruction  of  his  victim,  the  suppliant  should 
use  in  worship  of  his  saint.  But  enough  of  this 
heterodox  deviation. 

Standing  in  the  centre  of  this  deep  valley,  though 
the  indications  of  human  life  and  industry  are 
around  one  in  a  variety  of  forms,  yet  there  is  very 
little  that  forcibly  reminds  him  of  man.  This  do 
mestic  sentiment  is  overwhelmed  in  the  mightier 
impressions  of  nature.  From  the  bottom  of  a  pro 
found  abyss,  he  is  looking  up  to  mountains  which 
steeply  enclose  him  on  all  sides,  and  tower  to  the 
very  heavens  in  the  wildest  magnificence.  From 
the  broken  summits,  around  which  the  cloud  rallies 
in  darkness,  down  to  the  torrent  that  rolls  at  his 
feet,  every  thing  awes  and  subdues  him.  Wherever 
he  turns,  the  threatening  mass  of  some  lofty  cliff,  or 
the  shadowy  mysteries  of  some  unpierced  chasm,  or 
the  hollow  voice  of  some  unseen  water-fall,  or  the 
perpetual  gloom  of  the  forest  tree,  impresses  him  with 
sublime  terror.  He  feels  as  one  shut  out  from  the 
gayer  scenes  of  earth — confined  within  an  insur 
mountable  barrier  of  precipitous  rock,  and  doomed 
forever,  in  his  helplessness  and  desertion,  to  trem 
ble  under  a  sense  of  height  and  depth,  solitude,  so 
lemnity  and  danger. 

Yet  the  unpretending  tenants  of  this  secluded 
spot  pursue  their  quiet  vocations,  as  free  of  alarm, 
as  they  are  of  molestation,  They  cultivate  their 


SCENERY.  83 

vines  in  the  very  crater,  whose  bursting  energies 
throw  up  this  island  from  the  bed  of  the  ocean. — 
Every  thing  around  them  has  upon  it  the  marks  of 
volcanic  violence,  and  seems  still  to  be  pillared  upon 
a  slumbering  earthquake  ;  but  these  ominous  ap 
pearances  and  recollections  do  not  disturb  their  calm 
and  ever  cheerful  contentment. 

This  results  from  the  force  of  habit.  It  is  this 
mysterious  principle  in  our  nature  that  enables  the 
mariner  to  sing  under  the  dark  frown  of  the  coming 
storm, — that  makes  the  peasant  sleep  soundly  at  the 
shaking  foot  of  Etna — and  the  chamois  hunter  pur 
sue  his  game,  in  lightness  and  glee  along  the  glit 
tering  verge  of  the  avalanche.  Can  any  thing  with 
in  the  range  of  our  conceptions  more  thoroughly 
adapt  man  to  his  condition,  than  nature  ?  and  this 
she  effects  so  silently  and  unperceived  by  the  indi 
vidual  himself,  that  before  he  is  aware  of  it,  he  is 
singing  under  the  clouds  that  mantles  the  tempest — 
looking  with  exulting  sensations  into  the  eye  of  the 
volcano — or  holding  a  carnaval  over  the  ashes  and 
bones  of  an  entombed  city.  Let  those  who  treat 
with  lightness  the  untutored  influences  of  nature, 
find  in  reason,  if  they  can,  a  more  effective  and  per 
vading  power. 

I  return  to  the  Curral.  This  is  a  part  of  the 
domain  of  the  Santa  Clara  Convent ;  and  is  con 
templated  as  a  refuge  for  the  nuns,  in  case  a  hostile 
invasion  should  render  it  necessary.  I  should  be 


84  REFUGE. 

tempted  myself  to  join  an  expedition  to  storm  the 
nunnery,  if  it  would  be  the  means  of  planting  in  this 
retreat  the  imprisoned  Maria.  Her  romantic  heart 
would  here  find  objects  fitted  to  its  high  and  enthu 
siastic  nature.  She  is  now  like  a  bird  of  adventu 
rous  wing  and  gifted  song,  caged  to  the  lattice  of  one 
steeled  to  the  injury  inflicted  and  incapable  of  grief 
for  the  melody  lost.  I  must  unwire  that  cage  and 
liberate  the  captive :  there  will  then  be  music  sweeter 
than  that  breathed  through  the  star-lit  bowers  of 
Eden  by 

"  The  wakeful  nightingale, 

Who  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung." 

The  spot  on  which  we  had  fixed  for  a  half- 
hour's  repose  was  a  large  rock,  rising  boldly  out  of 
the  rushing  stream,  and  commanding  the  most  com 
prehensive  view  of  the  stupendous  scenes  around. — 
We  here  spread  out  the  welcome  collation,  which 
the  provident  fore-thought  of  Mrs.  R.  had  munifi 
cently  provided.  The  severe  exercise  which  we  had 
undergone  gave  a  keen  relish  to  the  occasion.  There 
is  no  appetite  so  unfastidious  in  its  demands,  and 
so  happy  in  its  gratification,  as  that  produced  by 
mild  fatigue,  especially  when  the  effort  has  been 
sprinkled  with  adventure,  and  enlivened  by  agreea 
ble  company.  We  suspended  a  bottle  or  two  of  the 
purest  Madeira  in  the  stream — which  was  indisputa 
bly  an  excellent  cooler — and  then  in  the  flowing 
cup,  remembered  those  far  away,  and  some  of  whom, 


ASCENT.  85 

perhaps  we  never  more  might  see.  With  what 
yearning  fondness,  the  affections  of  one  in  a  strange 
land  will  turn  to  his  native  shore,  though  oceans  roll 
between.  I  am  not  astonished  that  the  exiled  Swiss 
thinks  of  his  wild  hills  with  mournful  regret ;  much 
less  do  I  wonder  that  the  Hebrew  captive  hung  his 
harp  on  the  willow,  and  wept  by  Babel's  stream, 
when  he  remembered  Zion.  Home  never  appears 
so  sweet  to  us  as  when  deprived  of  its  endearments, 
all  that  may  have  been  coarse  or  repulsive  about  if, 
is  then  forgotten,  and  every  attraction  is  invested 
with  an  additional  charm. 

Our  repast  over,  Capt.  Reed  proposed  that  we 
should  climb  the  side  of  the  Curral,  opposite  to  that 
which  we  had  descended.  The  task  was  one  of  ex 
treme  difficulty,  for  the  face  of  the  mountain,  though 
broken  into  chasms,  cliffs,  and  crags,  was  very  pre 
cipitous,  and  presented  an  elevation  of  four  thousand 
feet.  But  by  winding  along  its  front,  and  improving 
every  slope  of  less  boldness,  we  at  last  gained  the  top. 
Thanks  to  the  roots  of  those  shrubs  for  the  perti 
nacity  with  which  they  clung  to  the  rocks  ;  it  was 
often  our  only  hope  and  safety.  I  thought  we  had 
taken  a  final  farewell  of  our  ponies,  but  their  atten 
dants  forced  them  up.  The  dexterity  of  both  is  in 
credible  ;  they  seem  to  be  strangers  to  fatigue,  and 
superior  to  any  obstacles,  which  nature  in  her  fiercest 
fit  of  defiance,  may  cast  in  their  way.  We  now 
picked  our  way  along  the  sharp  ridge,  with  the  Cur- 
8 


86  RETURN. 

ral  on  our  left,  when  the  Serra  d'Agoa,  a  ravine  of 
equal  depth,  and  perhaps  of  more  rugged  magnifi 
cence,  opened  beneath  us  on  the  right.  A  current 
of  white  clouds  was  pouring  down  its  opposite  side, 
and  so  closely  resembling  a  foaming  cataract,  that 
the  illusion  for  a  few  minutes  was  entire.  The  lin 
gering  splendors  of  the  setting  sun,  the  silence  of  the 
approaching  twilight,  and  the  long  shadows  which 
began  to  cast  their  dark  forms  below,  imparted  a 
fearful  interest  and  solemnity  to  the  scene.  I  have 
stood  by  the  plunging  tide  of  Niagara,  and  seen  its 
mighty  wave  roll  down  into  its  abyss  of  agony  and 
thunder ;  but  there  is  not  in  all  its  fierceness  and 
crushing  strength,  that  which  fills  the  mind  with 
such  a  deep  and  mysterious  awe  as  these  hushed  and 
fathomless  ravines.  We  could  have  lingered  here 
for  hours,  but  the  fading  light  warned  us  to  go. 
Wo  to  the  luckless  wight,  who  sings  his  Ave  Maria 
on  that  height ;  it  will  be  his  last  vesper ;  the  dry 
ads  of  the  untrodden  chasm  only  will  know  the 
place  of  his  grave. 

We  descended  without  any  serious  accident, 
and  were  happy  in  finding  ourselves  once  more  on 
a  road  where  we  could  mount  our  ponies.  Our 
return,  in  consequence  of  having  crossed  the  Curral? 
was  much  more  circuitous  than  our  rout  in  the 
morning ;  but  the  picturesque  novelty  of  the  varying 
scenery,  as  it  opened  upon  us  in  the  depths  of  the 
twilight  hour,  more  than  reconciled  us  to  the  length 


TWILIGHT.  87 

of  our  way.  The  light  that  is  shed  here  from  an 
evening  sky,  lies  on  the  landscape  in  a  rich  mellow 
slumber.  There  is  a  softness  and  liquid  fullness 
about  it,  that  makes  you  think  you  can  drink  it  as 
you  would  nectar.  Were  I  to  turn  idolater  here, 
the  objects  of  my  worship  would  be,  the  genius  that 
reigns  in  the  awful  Curral,  the  spirit  that  breathes 
through  the  star-lit  night,  and  the  beautiful  being 
who  dwells  in  sweetness  and  grief  within  the  veil  of 
Santa  Clara. 

Hark  to  the  bell  in  Clara's  turret  reeling, 
Bidding  the  vestals  for  their  rites  prepare ; 

When  low  before  the  white-robed  altar  kneeling, 
Maria  meekly  breathes  her  vesper  prayer, — 

A  prayer  so  full  of  holy,  fervid  feeling, 
She  seems  a  sainted  spirit,  lighted  there 

To  pray, — giving  to  this  one  spot  of  earth 

The  heavenly  charm  that  hovered  round  its  birth. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Sketches  of  Madeira — Physical  Features — Wines — Climate — City 
of  Funchal — Priests— Society — Morals— Peasantry — Merchants 
— Political  Opinions— Habits  of  the  Ladies — Courtships — Our 
Parting  and  Farewell. 

THE  Island  of  Madeira  is  full  of  marvel  and 
romance.  It  was  thrown  up  into  this  breathing 
world  by  some  volcanic  convulsion ;  it  was  dis 
covered  by  a  wandering  love-adventure ;  its  every 
aspect  is  one  of  wildness  and  beauty ;  and  its  wines 
prompt  the  most  rich  and  unearthly  dreams.  There 
is  nothing  about  it  that  has  the  smallest  cast  of 
sameness,  except  its  climate  ;  and  that  could  hardly 
be  improved  by  any  changes  wider  than  the  slight 
vibrations,  through  which  it  passes,  and  whi  chare 
full  of  softness  and  vitality.  It  is  indeed  a  fairy 
land, — the  paradise  of  the  Atlantic, — the  gem  of  the 
ocean.  But  I  will  look  at  some  of  the  more  marked 
and  discriminating  features  of  this  singular  island. 

Its  southern  coast  descends  in  easy  and  green 
declivities  to  the  sea.  These  warm  slopes  are 
covered  with  the  choicest  vineyards ;  the  vine 
seems  to  reel  under  its  purple  burthen.  Where  the 
ascent  is  so  steep  as  to  render  it  necessary,  it  is 


WINES    OP    MADEIRA.  89 

thrown  off  into  parapets,  which  may  be  seen  rising 
above  each  other  in  a  lengthened  series.  So  pre 
cious  is  this  southern  exposure,  that  where  there  is 
no  native  soil,  the  rock  is  covered  with  earth, 
brought  from  a  distance,  with  great  labor  and 
expense.  The  wines  of  these  vineyards  for  rich 
ness  of  body,  deliciousness  of  flavor,  and  immunity 
from  injury  by  time  and  indifferent  treatment,  are 
not  equaled  in  the  world.  Who  has  not  seen  the 
hospitable  host  half  in  a  rapture,  as  he  bade  his 
delighted  guests  fill  their  glasses  from  a  little  of  the 
"  old  south  side"  left  Him  by  some  worthy  ancestor. 
But  "  who  hath  redness  of  eyes  ?—  they  that  tarry 
long  at  the  wine." 

The  northern  shore  of  the  island  rises  from  the 
wave  in  a  bold,  elevated  range  of  rock  ;  but  what  it 
gains  in  majesty  it  loses  in  other  respects.  The 
vine  is  inferior  to  its  sister  of  the  south,  and  as  if  to 
punish  it  for  its  want  of  sweetness,  instead  of  being 
supported  by  fine  trellis-work  of  cane,  it  is  left  to 
climb  up  some  bramble,  or  reluctant  tree,  as  it  can ; 
and  then  after  all  its  best  efforts,  is  still  more  deeply 
punished  by  being  worked  up  into  brandy.  Some 
times  indeed,  it  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  removed 
in  its  infancy  to  the  south  side  ;  and  then  it  never 
fails  to  secure  affection  and  esteem. 

The  centre  of  the  island  has  the  Curral,  and  the 
magnificent  heights  which  surround  it,  and  which 
are  filled  with  gushing  fountains,  that  send  their 

8* 


90  CLIMATE. 

laughing  waters  in  every  direction  to  the  shore* 
Every  cliff,  and  chasm,  and  cascade,  has  around  it  the 
deep  shadows  of  some  indigenous  wood, — the  mys 
tery  of  some  romantic  legend, — the  despair  of  a 
lover's  leap, — or  the  yielding  affections  of  beauty, 
flying  from  the  stern  mandates  of  parental  autho 
rity. 

The  climate  is  one  of  unvarying  mildness  and 
salubrity :  it  is  a  continual  spring  with  its  fruits  and 
flowers  and  fragrant  breath.  This  uniformity  of 
temperature  is  one  of  its  most  charming  features  ; 
you  are  never  oppressed  witn  heat ;  never  pinched 
up  with  cold.  The  thermometer  usually  ranges 
from  sixty  to  seventy-five  degrees ;  and  in  the 
greatest  extremes,  rarely  rises  or  sinks  more  than 
five  degrees  above  or  below  that  agreeable  medium. 
This  place  is  a  favorite  resort  for  invalids;  espe 
cially  those  afflicted  with  pulmonary  complaints. 
You  meet  with  them  from  the  most  distant  climes. 
The  atmosphere  has  a  peculiar  elasticity  and  soft 
ness;  it  flows  through  the  delicate  lungs  with  a 
soothing  healing  influence. 

The  patient  fears  no  attack  from  any  disease 
foreign  to  his  own  malady;  for  a  malignant  fever  or 
fatal  epidemic  is  not  known  here.  And  so  entirely 
has  nature  intended  the  place  as  one  of  harmlessness 
as  well  as  health,  that  she  has  excluded  from  it 
every  description  of  venomous  reptiles  and  insects ; 
even  the  musqueto  has  never  been  able  to  obtain  a 


aUINTAS.  91 

citizenship.  Whether  it  be  owing  to  natural 
causes  or  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  during  the  time  that 
I  have  been  at  this  island,  I  have  never  once  heard  a 
child  cry.  The  little  nestler  appears  to  be  so  well 
satisfied  with  the  new  world,  in  which  he  has 
arrived,  that  he  troubles  no  one  with  the  fretful  calls 
of  any  ungratified  want.  Who  would  not  venture 
to  get  married  at  Madeira  ? 

Funchal  is  the  principal  town  of  the  island ; 
it  is  delightfully  situated  on  the  south  side,  and 
contains  a  population  of  about  twenty  thousand. 
The  streets  are  very  narrow,  and  ascending  as  they 
lead  from  the  shore ;  but  they  are  remarkably 
clean  ;  and  a  refreshing  air  is  given  to  them  by  a 
little  runnel  of  water  that  courses  down  the 
centre.  The  buildings  are  generally  of  two  sto 
ries  ;  many  of  them  have  iron  balconies  at  the  win 
dows,  and  a  belvidere  or  turret,  which  is  a  favorite 
resort  in  the  evening. 

Some  of  the  wealthier  class,  especially  the 
English  merchants,  have  Quintas — beautiful  sum 
mer  residences — in  the  vicinity  of  the  town.  Around 
these  fresh  retreats,  the  vine,  shrubbery  and  flora  of 
the  island,  appear  to  the  highest  advantage.  The 
grape,  with  its  creeping  tendrils  and  exuberant 
foliage,  shadows  the  cool  corridor;  the  geranium 
and  fussia  rise  in  a  firm  aromatic  wall ;  while  a 
vast  variety  of  flowers  bloom  in  their  tasteful  ar- 


92  SOCIETY. 

rangements ;  many  of  them  are  sweet  exotics,  but 
they  seem  here  not  to  pine  for  their  native  skies. 

Among  the  natives  there  is  very  little  of  that 
free,  social  intercourse,  which  constitutes  so  promi 
nent  and  pleasing  a  feature  of  society  with  us. 
This  reserve  is  owing  in  part  to  a  wider  distinction 
of  classes,  but  more  to  a  useless  jealousy.  The 
husband  has  little  confidence  in  the  fidelity  of  his 
soft  companion,  and  the  good  lady  has  just  as 
little  in  the  virtuous  education  of  her  daughters,  and 
the  Argus-eyed  vigilance  of  both  is  frequently  elu 
ded.  In  the  annual  returns  of  births  in  the  parish 
of  the  cathedral,  the  number  of  children  espostos, 
que  nao  se  sabe  quern  sao  seus  pays,  generally 
equals  that  of  those  born  de  legitimo  matrimonio. 

This  laxness  of  morals  will  always  be  found, 
where  a  blind  indiscriminate  jealousy  is  substituted 
for  the  restraints  of  an  enlightened  conscience,  and 
a  high  tone  of  public  sentiment.  If  a  parent  wishes 
to  keep  himself  arid  the  members  of  his  household 
in  the  paths  of  virtuous  peace  and  happiness,  he 
should  introduce  among  them  the  Bible,  and  bind 
upon  the  heart  the  spirit  of  its  sanctions :  this  will 
do  a  thousand  times  more  to  aid  his  better  purposes, 
than  all  the  bolts,  and  bars,  and  sleepless  suspicions 
that  ever  yet  embarrassed  the  wandering,  or  punished 
the  guilty.  Yet  it  is  astonishing  what  a  degree  of 
composure  the  domestic  relations  maintain  here, 


POLITICS.  93 

notwithstanding  this  frequent  profanation  of  their 
shrine.  It  can  be  explained  only  on  the  supposition 
of  a  want  of  innocence  to  cast  the  first  stone.  No 
thing  so  disarms  the  injured  and  incensed,  as  a 
consionsness  that  he  is  guilty  himself  of  the  very 
crime,  which  he  would  expose  and  punish  in  others. 
The  man  who  requires  fidelity  and  purity  at 
home,  must  not  carry  treason  and  contamination 
abroad ;  if  he  breaks  within  the  sanctuary  of  his 
neighbor,  it  is  but  a  just  retribution  that  his  own 
hearth  should  be  profaned  ;  if  he  wanders  in  search 
of  forbidden  pleasures,  he  must  not  expect  even 
his  own  children  to  escape  the  contagion  of  his 
example.  The  censor  should  be  immaculate  of  the 
crime  which  he  condemns  in  the  culprit. 

The  more  influential  and  better  informed  portion 
of  the  population  of  Madeira,  are  in  favor  of  a 
government  based  on  liberal  principles.  They 
utterly  loathe  the  miserable  despotism  to  which 
they  are  now  forced  to  submit.  They  do  not  speak 
out,  but  there  is  deep  thunder  ready  to  rend  the  cloud. 
That  the  present  state  of  things  must  soon  change 
no  one  who  has  any  knowledge  on  the  subject,  can 
doubt.  It  is  not  in  human  nature  long  to  endure 
such  wrongs  unredressed.  Whether  the  condition 
of  the  people  will  be  improved  by  the  success  of 
those  who  have  espoused  the  cause  of  Anna  Maria 
remains  to  be  shown  ;  but  one  thing  is  very  clear,  it 
can  hardly  be  rendered  more  deplorable. 


94  THE    CLERGY. 

A  revolution  would  have  taken  place  before  this, 
but  for  the  unaccountable  influence  of  the  clergy 
over  the  lower  orders.  These  men  of  sables,  I 
regret  to  say,  appear  to  have  forgotten  their  high 
and  holy  calling ;  for  instead  of  being  interested  in 
multiplying  the  sources  of  intelligence  and  sacred 
influences,  they  seem  to  be  engaged  in  suppressing 
inquiry,  and  stifling  the  breaking  light  of  the  age. 
They  sympathise  with  every  movement  that  casts  a 
new  weight  upon  the  drooping  energies  of  human 
nature.  There  was  a  great  exultation  among 
them,  when  it  was  announced  here  a  few  days  since, 
that  the  administration  of  Earl  Gray  had  been  over 
thrown,  and  that  the  Wellington  party,  with  its 
high-toned  aristocratic  sentiments,  had  been  installed 
upon  its  ruins.  The  aged  bishop,  in  the  plenitude 
of  his  thankfulness,  crept  up  the  stone  steps  of  the 
cathedral  three  times,  at  the  dead  of  night,  upon 
the  naked  knee.  But  his  hopes  were  blasted  in  the 
bud  ;  Gray  was  soon  recalled,  and  the  Reform  Bill 
passed  in  triumph ;  so  perish  the  hopes  of  all  who 
seek  to  trammel  the  public  mind. 

The  condition  of  the  peasantry  is  not  one  of 
such  unrelieved  wretchedness,  as  its  external  form 
would  intimate.  Who  would  suppose  that  the 
comfort,  inseparable  from  the  smallest  portion  of 
happiness,  could  be  found  in  a  cabin  without  a  floor, 
or  window,  or  chimney,  and  where  the  only  edibles 
seen  are  the  yam,  the  pumpkin,  the  batata,  and  a  fish 


PEASANTRY.  95 

over  which  even  the  gull  might  hesitate.  Yet  I 
found  in  these  very  cabins,  a  kindness,  contentment 
and  cheerfulness,  to  which  the  abodes  of  refinement 
and  luxury  are  often  strangers.  Yet  this  smiling 
contentment  was  not  of  that  animal  sort  which  con 
sists  in  an  insensibility  to  its  condition ;  through 
.all  the  shades  of  its  deprivations  there  was  a  quick 
intelligence,  and  a  hope  of  better  days,  as  irrepressi 
ble  as  the  mountain  wind. 

The  peasants  are  a  healthy,  muscular,  and  active 
class  of  people.  The  dress  with  the  men  consists  of  a 
conical  cap  thrown  on  the  top  of  the  head,  a  coarse 
linen  shirt  with  an  extremely  narrow  collar  and  flow 
ing  sleeve,  arid  which  is  confined  just  above  the  hip, 
by  the  band  of  a  pair  of  loose  kilts  of  the  same  mate 
rial,  which  in  their  turn  descend  to  the  knee,  and 
are  there  gathered  and  confined,  while  a  short  boot 
leaving  a  part  of  the  leg  bare,  completes  the  costume. 
The  women  wear  a  similar  cap,  with  short  petti 
coats,  and  a  palarine  which  protects  the  ample  chest 
and  firm  set  shoulders,  and  is  fastened  behind.  Such 
a  dress  has  one  thing  to  recommend  it  at  least,  it 
leaves  nature  free  in  the  discharge  of  her  noble  func 
tions  ;  there  is  no  narrowing,  pinching,  torturing 
whalebone,  or  constricting  cordage  about  it — inven 
tions  which  death  has  introduced  to  flatter  the  fancy 
and  fill  the  grave. 

The  English  ladies  at  Madeira  form  a  small,  but 
intelligent  and  attractive  circle.  The  mild  cli- 


96  MADEIRAN   LADIES. 

mate  appears  to  soften  down  those  more  sanguine 
traits  of  character,  to  which  the  daughters  of  Albion 
are  a  little  prone,  and  which  are  slightly  at  variance 
with  a  perfect  delicacy  and  sweetness  of  disposition. 
I  observed  similar  effects  of  climate,  upon  the  same 
polished  class,  in  the  island  of  Santa  Cruz.  The 
climate  of  England  wants  that  softness,  which 
breathes  such  a  mellowed  harmony  through  the  spirit 
of  the  fair  Madeiran.  It  is  this  melody  of  soul  which 
imparts  such  a  tranquil  and  exquisite  beauty  to  the 
countenance  of  the  gentle  inmate  of  Santa  Clara. 
As  I  saw  this  peerless  one  conversing  with  the  sister 
of  her  heart,  in  her  early  visit,  it  appeared  like  the 
meeting  of  two  light  clouds,  without  an  element  to 
disturb  the  amalgamating  flow. 

A  Madeiran  lady  seldom  walks,  and  very  rarely 
rides  except  in  her  palankeen.  This  is  a  sort  of 
swinging  cradle,  suspended  from  a  slight  pole,  and 
borne  upon  the  shoulders  of  two  men,  and  is  so 
closely  enclosed  by  curtains,  as  entirely  to  secure  the 
fair  occupant  from  observation,  save  now  and  then 
when  her  small  hand  feigns  to  adjust  the  dra 
pery,  or  her  flashing  eye  finds  some  intended  aper 
ture,  through  which  it  can  exchange  the  exulting 
glance.  In  this  mode  she  goes  to  mass,  and  makes 
morning  calls,  and  sometimes  steals  a  look  at  one 
whom  she  may  not  yet  openly  encounter. 

But  the  matrimonial  preliminaries  are  generally 
conducted  in  a  quite  different  form.  The  gentle- 


COURTSHIPS.  97 

man  passes  in  front  of  the  lady's  house,  with  a  fre 
quency  which  cannot  escape  her  notice ;  if  she  is 
pleased  with  her  out-door  visitor,  she  manifests  her 
interest  by  appearing  at  the  window  of  the  upper 
story ;  as  his  attentions  are  continued,  and  her  com 
placency  increased,  she  gradually  descends  from  one 
loft  to  another,  until  she  reaches  the  window  of  her 
parlor ;  from  this  she  casts  him  some  flowers,  signifi 
cant  of  her  pleasure  ;  at  length  she  permits  him  to 
pay  her  the  passing  compliment  of  the  morning, 
while  she  returns  him  some  word  or  broken  sen 
tence  of  mystical  and  magical  import ;  but  she  never 
permits  him  to  come  in,  until  he  has  obtained  the  con 
sent  of  her  parents — and  then  not  to  address  her  a  few 
months  and  run  away — but  to  marry  her,  and 
his  request  and  their  consent  are  regarded  as  a  bona 
fide  contract,  which  neither  party  can  violate  with 
out  dishonor. 

There  is  something  in  this  mode  of  approxima 
tion  and  union  that  I  like.  It  has  none  of  that  long, 
feeling,  sounding,  experimental  process  about  it, 
which  obtains  in  our  country,  and  which  too  fre 
quently  ends  only  in  the  disappointment  and  mortifi 
cation  of  one  of  the  parties, — unless,  as  is  sometimes 
the  case,  the  farce  has  a  still  more  tragical  close,  in 
a  blighted  name,  or  a  broken  heart.  Ladies,  who 
have  usually  the  most  to  apprehend  from  these  un 
meaning  pastimes,  should  be  careful  how  they  set 
the  example  of  a  trifling  disingenuousness,  for  if  they 
~  9 


HOSPITALITY. 

are  honest  and  sincere,  the  men  will  not  dare  to  play 
the  hypocrite.  Nothing  is  more  calculated  to  make 
a  gentleman  honest,  than  the  presence  of  an  honest 
lady. 

I  leave  Madeira  with  regret — I  could  never  be 
wearied  with  its  climate,  its  scenery  and  society. 
The  pleasures  of  our  visit  here  have  been  much  en 
hanced  by  the  polite  attentions  of  our  vice  consul, 
Mr,  PerigaL  Though  under  no  obligations  to  be 
peculiarly  civil,  yet  his  time,  his  well  furnished  table 
and  ample  mansion  were  proffered  to  us  in  that  cor- 
dial,  unceremonious  manner,  which  makes  accept 
ance  easy,  and  leaves  one  at  liberty  to  come  and  go 
at  pleasure.  It  was  a  true  specimen  of  the  polite 
ness  and  hospitality  which  adorned  the  olden  times, 
and  which  may  be  met  with  occasionally  in  these 
later  days.  No  one  can  enjoy  such  favors,  espe 
cially  in  a  strange  land,  without  cherishing — what 
I  know  we  do  on  the  present  occasion — the  liveliest 
sentiments  of  gratitude  and  esteem.  We  shall  look 
back  to  the  hospitality  of  this  shore,  as  the  pilgrim  to 
the  sparkling  waters  of  the  desert  spring. 

But  our  anchor  is  up — our  sails  are  unfurled — 
the  springing  breeze  comes  fast — and  we  must  bid 
adieu  to  Madeira  and  Maria.  Farewell  thou  wild 
and  beautiful  Isle ! — nothing  lorlier  than  thee  ever 
rose  from  the  ocean,  or  possessed  a  more  captivating 
claim  to  the  first  smile  of  the  morning  star.  Fare 
well  Maria! — the  veil  never  shadowed  a  sweeter 


;,  nor  hath  convent -wal I  imprisons]  a 
purer  heart,  than  thm»; !  ~-rrj/jy  thy  footstep*  soon  \& 
MMOftfoed  M  thy  spirit; — but  wh':th':r  fr*:<:  and 
'it,  or  chain^J  and  mournful,  f>e  the  lot  of  thy 
coming  years,  thou  wilt  Ions/  U;  Mw.itAw-A  \>y 
those,  who  rj^v;r  met  thee  hut  with  increased  fond 
ness,  and  now  leave  thee,  with  lingering  aft/;' 
and  grief ! 

Farewell  f— and  tbovM  we  meet  no 

in  memory'*  dream ; 
Yet  sweet  the  vision*,  that  rertot* 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Passage  from  Madeira  to  Lisbon  — Sea-sickness  as  a  Purgatorial  State 
— Situation  of  a  Member  of  Congress  and  Officer  of  the  Navy  com 
pared — Rock  of  Lisbon— Pilot— Tagus — Cheering— Rockets— Don 
Miguel. 

I  DID  hope,  when  we  had  reached  Madeira,  and 
quite  crossed  the  Atlantic,  that  the  horrors  of  sea 
sickness  v/ero  over,  at  least,  for  this  cruise  ;  but  this 
persecuting  plague  of  the  ocean  has  come  again, 
foul  and  ghastly  as  Milton's  personification  of  sin  at 
the  portals  of  the  lower  world.  A  heavy  head-sea 
is  heaving  against  our  brows  the  mass  of  its  vio 
lent  strength,  while  our  ship  shakes  through  her 
sides,  like  a  whale  in  the  convulsions  of  death. 
But  this  frightful  paroxysm,  were  it  all,  might  be 
endured;  but  then  to  be  yourself  sickened  beyond 
all  the  powers  of  the  most  nauseating  drugs — to 
heave  up,  in  wrenching  throes  your  very  vitals  from 
their  bleeding  roots — to  be  battled  and  bruised  and 
tumbled  about,  as  a  loathsome  thing,  which  even 
the  sea  would  spurn  from  its  presence,  and  almost 
deny  a  grave — this  is  enough  to  torture  and  disgust 
one  out  of  life.  I  wonder  not  that  the  sea-sick  some 
times,  while  the  power  of  motion  remains,  roll  over- 


SEA-SICKNESS.  101 

board,  and  bury  themselves  before  their  time  ;  for  if 
suicide  be  ever  without  guilt,  it  is  where  the  poor 
wretch  has  every  thing  of  death,  but  its  insensi 
bility. 

It  is  astonishing  to  me  that  the  ancients,  whose 
imaginations  were  so  prolific  of  woe,  never  introdu 
ced,  among  their  Tartarean  torments,  the  horrors  of 
sea-sickness.  For  what  is  the  plight  of  a  wandering 
ghost  ;  or  the  thirst  of  a  Tantalus  ;  or  the  recoiling 
task  of  Sisyphus ;  or  even  the  inexorable  wheel  of 
Axion,  compared  with  the  condition  of  one,  who  is 
forever  straining  and  retching  to  heave  up  from  his 
inmost  being,  a  rankling,  broiling,  clinging  nest  of 
torture — and  in  his  agony  and  faintness,  and  swim 
ming  delirium,  calling  in  vain,  on  death  for  relief! 
If  I  ever  construct  the  machinery  of  a  purgatorial 
state,  I  will  place  in  the  very  centre  of  its  horrors, 
a  rolling  deck,  strewn  with  the  ghastly  victims  of 
sea-sickness: — for  the  man  must  be  lost  to  reason, 
who  could  think  of  long  enduring  such  a  retribution 
for  all  the  pride,  and  pomp,  and  gratification,  which 
float  between  the  cradle  arid  the  grave. 

I  wish  those  members  of  Congress  who  think 
the  officers  of  the  navy  sufficiently  compensated  for 
their  hardships  and  sufferings,  would  just  take  one 
voyage  to  sea.  It  is  an  easy  thing  for  a  man  to  rock 
on  to  Washington,  getting  fifty  cents  a  mile,  for  his 
smooth  circuitous  passage, — to  take  there  a  snug 
room,  with  its  cheerful  fire,  easy-chair  and  sofa, — to 
9* 


102  MEMBERS    OP    CONGRESS. 

retire  to  rest  at  what  hour  he  pleases,  without  even 
a  mouse  to  disturb  his  repose, — to  rise  sometime 
along  in  the  morning,  and  in  gown  and  slippers,  sip 
a  bowl  of  coffee  covered  with  rich  cream, — to  ride 
up  to  the  Capitol  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  take  his 
armed  chair,  in  a  hall  warmed  to  a  mild  arid  con 
genial  temperature, — to  open  his  mail,  arid  peruse  a 
sweet  letter  from  his  affectionate  wife,  then  unfold  a 
newspaper  and  read  the  compliments  of  its  editor 
on  his  last  speech, — to  ambulate  in  the  lobby  and  talk 
over  a  little  politics,  while  some  younker  is  address 
ing  the  House,  about  the  complexion  of  the  inha 
bitants  in  the  moon, — to  ride  home  to  his  quar 
ters  and  dine  on  viands  and  vegetables,  warm  and 
rich,  with  a  bottle  of  old  wine  to  mellow  them  down, 
— to  take  a  quiet  siasta,and  in  the  evening  go  to  the 
drawing-room  and  exchange  smiles  with  the  ladies, 
— and  when  the  session  is  over — to  draw  eight  dol 
lars  a  day  for  services  thus  rendered  the  country  ! 

All  this  is  very  easy, — very  comfortable, — quite 
a  desirable  condition, — and  I  would  not  disturb  its 
sweetness  and  serenity  by  one  unnecessary  care. 
But  suppose  this  individual  exchange  situations 
with  one  of  us,  and  ascertain  what  our  amply  com 
pensated  life  of  gaiety  and  romance  reully  is.  Be 
fore  he  dreams  of  it,  he  is  ordered  off  to  sea,  ?o 
peremptorily  that  even  a  new-married  wife,  or  one 
that  is  dying,  cannot  plead  him  off  an  hour.  He 
hastens  on  board  his  ship,  looks  back  from  the  hur- 


NAVAL    LIFE.  103 

rying  wave  to  his  native  shore,  perhaps  for  the  last 
time, — begins  to  feel  the  deck  of  his  vessel  spinning 
around  him,  and  then  enters  on  the  agonies  of  sea 
sickness, — lifts  his  faint  and  drooping  head  from 
this  rack  of  straining  torture,  arid  hears  a  thunder- 
gale  roaring  through  his  shrouds  like  the  summons 
of  the  last  trump, — draws  his  nerveless  form  upon 
deck,  and  sees  the  tattered  fragments  of  a  top-sail 
fluttering  on  the  distant  wind,  or  a  broken  spar  scud 
ding  away  from  his  ship,  like  a  thief  from  the  gal 
lows  : — through  night,  and  tempest,  and  torrents 
from  the  clouds,  he  must  ever  keep  his  regular 
watch,  and  feel  in  all  his  weariness  and  exhaustion 
that  the  safety  of  the  ship,  and  the  preservation  of 
the  lives  on  board,  are  at  issue  upon  the  wisdom  and 
vigor  of  his  conduct. 

He  is  thirsty, — calls  for  a  cup  of  water, — strains 
a  liquid  through  his  teeth,  which  has  the  name  of 
that  pure  element,  but  which  ropes  away  from  his 
parching  lips, — he  is  faint,  requires  sustenance,  and 
thinks  of  a  bowl  of  milk,  so  soothing  and  innocent, 
but  it  is  far  off  in  some  farmer's  dairy. — he  thinks 
of  fruits  and  vegetables,  those  fresh  things  of  earth, 
which  seen  through  a  sea  atmosphere,  appear  still 
more  fresh  and  tempting,  but  they  too  are  far  away 
in  some  market  which  he  may  never  see  again, — 
and  so  he  sits  down  with  a  dry  crust,  and  hacks 
away  at  a  piece  of  salt  junk,  at  which  a  shark  in 


104  NAVAL    LIFE. 

any  remarkable  degree  fastidious,  would  turn  up 
its  nose  and  pass  on. 

While  cruising  around  in  chase  of  pirates,  he 
falls  in  with  a  vessel  just  from  his  own  country, 
and  boards  her  with  the  eager  expectation  of  find 
ing  letters  from  home,  but  he  finds  only  a  newspaper 
or  two,  containing  a  brief  notice  of  the  death  of 
some  esteemed  friend  or  relative,  and  the  remarks  of 
some  members  of  Congress,  on  the  romance  of  his 
life,  and  the  prodigality  of  his  pay.  At  length, 
from  some  less  healthy  clime,  he  enters  a  salubrious 
port,  but  is  put  under  a  quarantine  of  forty  days, 
and  cannot  even  get  a  note  to  the  town,  without 
having  it  first  steeped  in  fire  and  brimstone.  This 
is  intolerable, — he  weighs  anchor,  puts  to  sea,  and 
in  his  cruise  reaches  another  port,  and  enters  ;  but 
the  yellow  fever  or  cholera  enters  his  ship.  It  is 
now  too  late  to  fly,  and  death  to  remain.  Through 
the  wearisome  night,  he  can  hear  only  the  moaning 
of  the  sick,  and  the  passage  of  the  dead  over  his 
ship's  side, — the  fatal  symptoms  are  upon  him, — he 
orders  his  coffin  to  be  made, — dictates*  a  brief  letter 
to  his  wife, — bids  his  messmates  adieu, — and  dies  ! 

If  there  be  romance  in  such  a  life  as  this,  it  is 
not  that  kind  of  romance  which  takes  one  away 
from  the  toils  and  troubles  of  a  real  world,  into  a 
fairy  region  of  perpetual  smile  and  sunshine  ;  and 
if  there  be  a  prodigal  compensation  allowed  to  such 


ROCK    OF    LISBON.  105 

a  life,  it  is  not  that  prodigality  of  reward,  which 
enables  one  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  his  widow 
and  orphans.  The  testament  of  an  officer  in  the 
navy,  who  has  no  means  of  accumulation  except  his 
pay,  has  usually  as  little  gold  at  its  disposal  as  the 
last  article  in  the  will  of  a  Palestine  pilgrim.  He 
can  bequeath  his  good  name — the  memory  of 
his  virtues — and  it  is  only  to  be  regretted,  that 
these  cannot  contain  the  essential  elements  of  life. 

Ye  that  are  on  land,  leave  not  the  safe,  substan 
tial  earth  ;  and  when  the  pitiless  storm  raves  around 
your  snug  dwelling,  turn  a  thought  to  the  poor 
sailor,  tost  on  this  howling  waste,  with  only  a 
plank  between  him  and  eternity;  and  in  your 
evening  devotions,  commend  him  to  the  protection  of 
that  Being:  who  "  rides  on  the  tempest  and  directs  the 
storm,"  and  who  can  say  to  the  chainless  ocean, 
"  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  further,  and  here 
shall  thy  proud  waves  be  staid." 

It  was  past  mid-day  when  the  rock  of  Lisbon 
broke  from  a  mass  of  clouds  that  hung  densely  over 
our  larboard  bow.  There  was  nothing  remarkably 
bold  or  towering-  in  the  aspect  of  this  rock,  and  yet 
to  me  it  was  full  of  thrilling  interest.  It  was  my 
first  glance  of  Europe, — the  first  object  seen  in  that 
old  world,  whose  nations  had  risen  to  power  and 
splendor,  and  gone  down  to  their  mighty  sepul 
chres,  while  America  was  yet  a  stranger  to  the  map 


106  PILOT. 

of  the  globe,  and  before  it  had  even  floated  on  the 
dream  of  a  conjecturing  Columbus. 

Owing  to  the  faintness  of  the  breeze,  it  was  seve 
ral  hours  before  we  could  require  or  obtain  a  pilot ; 
a  signal  gun  at  length  brought  one  on  board ;  he 
was  a  meagre,  narrow,  and  ghastly  looking  fellow ; 
if  old  Charon  be  dead,  he  should  be  his  successor  ; 
for  he  would  appear  much  more  appropriately  occu 
pied  in  ferrying  the  dead,  than  piloting  the  living. 
He  at  first  refused  to  take  us  in  that  evening,  de 
claring  the  night  too  near  at  hand,  and  the  wind 
from  the  wrong  point  of  the  compass ;  but  threw 
out  a  blunt  hint,  as  he  passed  below,  that  a  glass  of 
brandy  would  enable  him  to  overcome  these  obsta 
cles.     Thus  braced  and  conciliated,  he  returned  to 
the  deck,  ordered  sail  to  be  made,  and  manifested 
the  craft  of  his  profession  by  an  affected  escape  of 
difficulties,  which  never  existed,  and  an  exhibition  of 
knowledge,  for  which  there  was  no  possible  demand. 
Moving  up  the  Tagus,  we  found  the  U.  S.  sloop  of 
war   John  Adams,   commanded  by   Capt.    Storer, 
lying  at  anchor,  in  quarantine.     The  crew,  as  we 
passed,  gave  us  a  hearty  cheer, — a  welcome  which 
our  tars  cordially  returned.     We  came  to  anchor 
opposite  the  royal  palace  Ajuda,  about  two  miles 
below  the  town. 

The   Tagus  is  a  noble  river,  deep  and  broad, 
and  its  wave  has  that  rich  yellow  tinge,  which  has 


TAGUS.  107 

made  poets  sing  of  it,  as  ever  "  rolling  its  golden 
sand."  The  heights  on  the  right  bank,  as  you  look 
up  the  stream,  are  broken  into  conical  hills,  and  co 
vered  with  a  profusion  of  quintas  and  villages  ;  on 
the  left  stands  Lisbon,  coming  down  with  its  white 
dwelling,  churches  and  convents,  on  an  easy  sweep, 
to  the  lapping  waters.  Around  the  quay  shot  up  a 
forest  of  masts  bearing  the  flags  of  different  nations  ; 
while  a  little  more  remote,  reposed  at  this  time  three 
ships  of  the  line,  and  two  frigates,  under  the  "proud 
ensign  of  Brittania  ;"  nearer  to  us  lay  two  frigates, 
bearing  the  tri-colored  banner  of  chivalric  France ; 
and  two  ships  of  the  same  class,  with  the  white  field 
and  central  crown  of  the  king  of  Portugal ;  while  the 
light  felucas  of  the  natives  were  in  all  directions 
cutting  the  broad  stream. 

As  the  shadows  of  evening  deepened  over  us,  the 
frequent  rocket  was  seen  darting  through  its  path 
way  of  flame,  and  now  and  then,  a  long,  loud  cheer 
came  floating  on  the  wind.  These  demonstrations 
of  pleasure  were  in  honor  of  our  arrival,  and  convey 
ed  a  compliment  equally  unusual  and  unexpected. 
It  seems  we  are  in  great  favor  with  the  multitude, 
who  threw  up  their  caps  for  Don  Miguel ;  this  is 
in  consequence  of  having  so  early  recognized  their 
king,  but  our  acknowledgments  of  this  kind,  if 
rightly  understood,  would  go  but.  little  way  in  esta 
blishing  a  man's  title  to  the  crown.  We  never  sift 
the  question  of  right,  but  give  in  our  diplomatic 


108  THRONE. 

adhesion  to  whatever  may  be  on  the  throne,  whether 
it  be  Don  Miguel,  or  the  devil.  This  is  undoubtedly 
our  true  policy  ;  for  if  we,  with  our  republican  edu 
cation,  were  to  attempt  to  settle  the  question  of  legi 
timacy^  we  should  soon  find  ourselves  in  the  pre 
dicament  of  the  school-boy,  who  attempted  to  solve 
a  problem  by  the  rule  of  three,  without  having  first 
made  himself  familiar  with  the  simple  rules  of  mul 
tiplication  and  division. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Lisbon — Cabriolets — Postillion — Madame  Julia's  Hotel — A  Parti 
san  Merchant — Alcantra  Aqueduct — Church,  of  St.  Roque — 
Mosaics— Queen  Maria  First— Church  of  St.  Domingo — Statue 
of  King  Joseph — The  Earthquake— Inquisition. 

No  one  left  the  ship  last  evening.  This  morn 
ing  at  an  early  honr,  Mr.  C.  and  myself  landed 
down  the  stream,  at  Belem  castle — an  old  feebly 
mounted  fortress,  and  took  a  cabriolet  for  Lisbon. 
Every  thing  around,  convinced  us  at  once  that  we 
were  in  a  foreign  land,  and  among  a  people  where 
the  march  of  improvement  had  long  been  pausing. 
The  vehicle  in  which  we  were  trundled  along,  was 
one  of  those  rude  contrivances,  which  might  be 
classed  among  the  first  triumphs  of  civilization.  It 
was  a  clumsy  affair,  moving  on  two  heavy  wheels, 
with  a  massive  body,  hanging  stiffly  down  to  the 
creaking  axle,  and  a  pondrous  top,  supported  by 
rough  iron  stanchions,  with  a  window  on  each  side, 
and  a  thick  moveable  leather  curtain  in  front.  It 
was  drawn  by  two  old  worn  out  horses,  moving 
abreast ;  one  in  the  long  beamy  thills,  the  other  out 
side,  mounted  by  a  postillion,  whose  appearance  was 
quite  in  keeping  with  his  charge.  His  large  dingy 
hat  was  cocked  up  closely  over  each  ear — his 

10 


110  BUENOS  AYRES. 

straight,  pendulous  cue  hung  far  down  his  shoulders 
— his  coat  was  pinched  and  high  in  the  waist,  while 
its  little  narrow  flaps  struggled  hard  to  reach  the 
stern  of  his  saddle  ;  and  his  jappaned  boots,  armed 
with  a  pair  of  enormous  spurs,  mounted  so  high  up 
the  lank  leg  as  to  let  the  knee  well  into  the  gaping 
top.  His  whip,  which  made  up  for  the  brevity  of 
its  stock  in  the  length  of  its  lash,  he  ever  cracked 
ahead  of  his  animals  ;  and  on  such  an  occasion,  he 
usually  cocked  his  eye  around  to  us,  with  that 
peculiar  look  in  which  one  expresses  his  sense  of 
the  dignity  arid  importance  of  his  occupation. 

On  our  asking  him,  if  these  were  the  only  vehi 
cles  used  here,  he  replied,  with  rather  an  offended  air, 
"  It  is  the  only  one  in  which  a  gentleman  rides," 
and  then  gave  his  whip  another  crack  far  ahead. 
So,  being  satisfied  our  establishment  was  not  as 
ridiculous  in  the  eyes  of  others,  as  our  own,  we 
moved  on.  Passing  through  a  long  series  of  nar 
row,  dirty  streets,  with  here  and  there  a  huge  con 
vent  towering  above  the  visible  poverty  below,  we 
reached  Buenos  Ayres,  a  suburb  of  Lisbon,  posses 
sing  some  claims  to  neatness  and  comfort.  We 
here  called  on  our  Charge  d' Affairs,  Mr.  Brent, 
whose  long  and  successful  services  have  given  him 
an  eminent  station  in  the  confidence  of  his  country. 
He  is  almost  the  only  diplomatic  agent,  who  has  not 
been  displaced  by  the  spirit  of  change,  that  has  of 
late  fallen  upon  our  public  counsels.  Having 


MADAM    JULIA.  Ill 

delivered  the  despatches  of  our  government,  and 
made  a  few  inquiries  respecting  the  political  fea 
tures  of  Portugal,  we  took  leave,  and  jogged  along 
into  the  city,  meeting  in  almost  every  street  an 
armed  patroll,  who  were  universally  civil  on  de 
tecting  our  American  uniform. 

Our  next  call  was  on  our  consul,  or  rather  his 
agent — the  consul  himself  being  absent  at  Paris. 
Among  other  inquiries,  we  made  one  for  the  most 
convenient  and  respectable  hotel ;  and  were  recom 
mended  to  Madam  Julia's,  as  possessing  by  far  the 
highest  claims.  So  dismissing  our  knight  of  the 
cabriolet,  we  walked  on  in  search  of  Madam  Julia's 
hotel,  the  Dutch  characteristics  of  which  we  soon 
discovered  in  the  antic  tricks  of  two  monkies,  and 
the  incessant  prattle  of  a  parrot,  upon  its  porch. 
We  found  our  hostess  a  thick-set,  dumpy,  Dutch 
woman,  with  a  broad,  red  face,  and  a  tongue  equally 
voluble  in  a  vast  many  languages.  She  assured  me, 
within  ten  minutes  after  crossing  her  threshold, 
that  she  could  speak  the  dead  languages,  as  well  as 
the  living.  I  felt  no  disposition  to  test  her  know 
ledge  of  Latin  and  Greek,  for  I  was  already  over 
whelmed  with  her  torrent  of  broken  English.  I 
told  her  we  would  thank  her  for  our  dinners  soon 
as  practicable  ;  but  before  I  had  finished  my  brief 
request,  she  broke  in,  by  asking  if  I  could  speak  the 
Hebrew-^"  that  first  great  language  of  all  the  world." 
J  replied  by  requesting  our  dinner,  as  we  were  in 


112  MEAGER    DINNER. 

haste.  She  suggested  that  I  might,  perhaps,  speak 
the  Arabic -"that  language  in  which  Mahomet 
wrote  the  Koran — an  excellent  language,  but  a  bad 
book."  I  insisted  on  the  dinner  first,  and  a  discus 
sion  of  the  relative  merits  of  the  different  languages 
afterwards.  This  partially  satisfied  her,  and  she 
waddled  off  through  a  large  oaken  door  towards 
the  kitchen. 

In  about  an  hour,  which  we  lounged  away  upon 
a  huge  sofa,  covered  with  venerable  dust,  our  dinner 
was  formally  announced  ;  and  though  neither  of  us 
ever  had  the  character  of  being  a  gourmand,  yet  we 
were  a  little  vexed  upon  discovering  on  the  table, 
in  meats,  only  a  little  poor  boiled  chicken  ;  in  vege 
tables,  only  a  plate  of  hard  peas ;  and  in  fruits,  only 
three  or  four  sour  oranges.  But  the  time,  even 
occupied  in  making  way  with  these  meager  trifles, 
was  evidently  vjry  long  to  Madam  Julia,  who  was 
impatiently  anticipating  the  classical  discussion  at 
its  close.  Nor  could  she  wholly  restrain  herself  till 
that  time  ;  but  as  we  were  picking  some  bone  of  the 
chicken,  or  sucking  the  acidity  from  an  orange, 
remarked  upon  its  peculiarities  in  some  strange, 
unknown  dialect.  On  rising  from  the  table,  we 
asked  for  our  bill.  "  Did  you  say,"  returned  our 
hostess,  "  that  the  languages  spoken  now-a-days, 
are  to  be  compared  to  those  spoken  by  the  ancients  ?" 
We  replied — "We  are  now,  madam,  on  our  way  to 
the  very  place  where  the  ancients  lived,  where  we 


PARTISAN    MERCHANT.  113 

shall  pick  up  all  the  little  notions  we  can  respecting 
them ;  and  upon  our  return,  should  we  call  at 
Lisbon,  will  tell  you  all  we  can  gather  about  the 
matter,  and  in  the  mean,  we  will  thank  you  for  our 
bill."  "  My  charge,"  she  murmured,  "  is  six  dollars  ; 
Lord  G:  has  lately  been  paying  me  two  guineas  a 
day  for  my  table,  and  some  instructions  in  the  lan 
guages."  We  handed  her  the  moderate  sum  de 
manded,  and  bade  her  good  bye,  while  she  followed 
us  quite  out  the  door,  requesting  us  not  to  forget 
the  literary  hotel  of  Madam  Julia. 

The  next  place  at  which  we  called,  was  the 
store  of  a  Portuguese  merchant,  where  we  inquired 
for  a  few  ready  articles  ;  but  before  they  were 
handed  down,  the  keeper  drawing  close  to  us  whis 
pered  in  our  ear :  "  Can  you  tell  me  any  thing 
about  the  movements  of  Don  Pedro."  We  replied, 
"  At  our  last  advices,  he  was  about  embarking  from 
St.  Michel's,  with  his  collected  forces."  "  And  how 
strong  does  he  number?"  he  whispered  again.  We 
told  him, — "  From  our  best  information,  about  seven 
or  eight  thousand."  His  countenance  brightened. 
u  And  how  long  do  you  think  before  he  will  reach 
here  ?"  he  continued  to  whisper.  We  observed — 
"  The  wind  is  now  very  fresh  and  fair,  and  for  matter 
of  that,  he  may  be  here  in  a  few  days."  "  And  have 
you  come  to  aid  Miguel?"  he  inquired  earnestly. 
"  No,  that  is  no  part  of  our  business  here."  He 
grasped  us  by  the  hand,  and  expressed  in  his  look  a, 
10* 


114  EFFECTS    OF    DESPOTISM. 

satisfaction,  which  language  could  not  convey.  We 
asked  him,  "  How  stand  the  political  parlies  in  Lis 
bon  ?"  He  at  first  clapped  his  finger  on  his  lip,  and 
after  a  pause,  breathed  half  audibly — "Very  well  for 
Pedro."  We  inquired,  "  How  are  the  more  wealthy,, 
intelligent,  and  influential  classes  affected:"  He 
whispered  mournfully  -  "  Those  who  have  not 
been  put  to  death,  are  in  banishment,  or  the  dun 
geon."  We  purchased  our  articles,  and  bade  him 
adieu  ;  congratulating  ourselves  that  we  were  born 
in  a  land,  where  it  is  not  treason  for  a  man  to  speak 
his  political  sentiments.  How  miserable  must  be 
the  condition  of  that  country,  where  one  man  can 
tie  up  the  very  breath  of  millions  !  Freedom  is  the 
sacred  birthright  of  man,  and  yet  he  is  plundered  of 
it  by  every  petty  despot  that  can  reach  a  throne  ! 

Mr.  C.,  with  myself,  took  a  cabriolet  this  morn 
ing  to  ride  out  and  see  a  celebrated  section  of  the 
Alcantra  aqueduct.  Midshipman  L.  being  present, 
we  pressed  him  to  take  a  seat  with  us ;  for  these 
primeval  machines  can  easily  accommodate  three, 
especially  of  our  dimensions.  This  introduction  of 
a  third  person  roused  the  indignation  of  the  postil 
lion  ;  he  jumped  from  his  saddle,  and  lustily  swore 
he  would  not  stir  an  inch.  We  remained  firm  in  our 
seats  waiting  for  his  choler  to  subside.  After  half 
an  hour  or  so,  he  grumly  remounted  and  moved 
off  in  a  slow  walk ;  but  even  this  was  not  gained 
till  he  had  been  severely  rebuked  by  one  of  the 


SULKY    POSTILLION.  115 

police,  and  we  had  promised  an  additional  compen 
sation. 

The  pertinacious  obstinacy  of  these  men  is 
incredible.  Two  of  our  officers  sent  the  other 
morning  from  Madam  Julia's  Hotel  for  a  cabriolet, 
and  after  waiting  an  hour  and  a  half  without  seeing 
any  signs  of  its  coming,  commenced  their  excursion 
on  foot.  Soon  after  their  departure  the  vehicle  arrived. 
The  postillion  was  informed  by  the  hostess,  that  the 
gentlemen,  wearied  out  with  waiting,  had  left,  and 
would  not  return  till  evening ;  but  he  remained 
firm  at  the  door,  declaring  he  would  not  stir  till  he 
had  been  paid  for  his  services.  Through  the  hot 
day  he  lounged  about  his  horses,  knocking  off  the 
flies,  and  at  dusk  when  the  officers  returned,  per 
emptorily  demanded  his  hire  for  the  day.  For  the 
sake  of  peace,  they  offered  him  half  the  price  de 
manded,  which  he  indignantly  refused,  and  re 
mained  at  the  door  till  ten  at  night.  Early  the 
next  morning  he  took  his  stand  at  the  door  again, 
and  now  demanded  full  pay  for  his  second  day's 
services.  He  remained  there  till  noon,  when  upon 
Madam  Julia's  suggesting,  that  as  she  sent  for  the 
cabriolet,  she  mi_j;ht  be  held  responsible  for  its 
charges,  the  affair  was  settled  by  paying  the  whole 
price  demanded. 

To  return  to  our  team.  Our  sulky  postillion 
would  not  move  out  of  a  walk.  We  threatened  to 
leave  him,  and  take  it  on  foot ;  but  it  had  no  effect. 


116  ALCANTRA    AQUEDUCT. 

I  menaced  his  head  with  a  massive  stone,  but  he  sat 
on  his  saddle  with  the  most  fixed,  imperturable 
obstinacy.  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  have  been 
killed,  or  "  made  desperate  fight,"  sooner  than  put 
his  horses  into  a  trot.  This  is  a  fair  specimen  of 
the  mulish  obstinacy  of  an  offended  Portuguese. 
When  he  can  have  his  own  way,  he  is  remarkably 
kind  and  conciliating  ;  but  when  thwarted,  nothing 
can  appease  or  coerce  him.  He  is  ardent  in  love, 
and  terrible  in  resentment.  Take  him  in  a  good 
humor,  and  you  may  coax  him  out  of  his  life ;  but 
offended  with  you,  he  would  see  you  sink  to  forty 
graves,  without  stirring  a  hand  for  your  rescue. 

We  at  last  reached  the  object  of  our  curiosity — 
the  great  aqueduct  of  Alcantra.  It  is  truly  a  mag 
nificent  work,  stretching  across  a  deep  valley  of 
three-quarters  of  a  mile,  and  sustained  by  thirty-five 
arches,  the  centre  one  of  which  is  two  hundred 
and  seventy  feet  in  height — the  highest  arch  in  the 
world.  The  aqueduct  itself  has  the  appearance  of 
a  majestic  substantial  gallery,  running  along  high 
in  air,  with  its  white  walls,  open  windows,  close 
roof,  and  frequent  turrets;  while  the  water  sweeps 
through  it  in  two  sparkling  currents,  leaving  a  space 
between,  where  three  may  move  abreast.  To  the 
outside  of  each  wall  is  attached  another  ample 
walk,  defended  by  a  balustrade,  and  supported 
upon  the  lofty  arches.  The  stupendous  character 
of  this  work  would  lead  one  to  suppose,  that  the 


CHURCH    OF    ST.    ROQUE.  117 

Portuguese,  at  the  time  of  its  construction,  must 
have  been  ignorant  of  the  first  principles  of  hydrau 
lics  ;  but  this  was  not  the  caase.  They  were  per 
fectly  aware  that  water  will  recover  its  level,  and 
that  an  aqueduct  laid  under  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  would  answer  every  essential  purpose  of 
one  reposing  on  the  most  sublime  sweep  of  arches. 
But  they  must  have  something  that  will  strike  the 
eye — something  that  will  please  the  vanity  of  the 
multitude— something  lofty  and  monumental.  I 
was  informed  by  a  very  intelligent  gentleman,  who 
has  long  been  a  resident  in  Portugal,  that  if  this 
nation  were  now  to  construct  an  extended  aqueduct, 
instead  of  using  simple  pipes  placed  in  the  earth, 
they  would  have  it  run  from  one  height  to  another, 
upon  a  magnificent  range  of  arches.  But  a  nation, 
like  an  individual,  will  have  its  age,  decrepitude, 
and  folly. 

On  our  return,  we  stopped  at  the  church  of  St. 
Roque,  where  we  discharged  our  sulky  postillion 
and  his  concern,  with  three  dollars.  We  found  a 
priest  at  the  porch  ready  to  wait  upon  us.  He 
conducted  us  slowly  up  through  a  dense  multitude 
kneeling  in  the  nave— for  it  was  some  saint's 
day — to  a  small  chapel  dedicated  to  John  the 
Baptist.  The  embellishments  of  this  sacred  alcove, 
adorned  by  the  treasury  of  John  Fifth,  display  a 
rich  profusion  of  precious  marble,  amethyst,  por- 
phery,  jasper,  lapis-lazuli,  and  verd  antique.  But 


118  QUEEN    MARIA. 

the  objects  of  greatest  interest  and  admiration,  are 
three  pictures,  representing  the  Annunciation,  the 
Baptism,  and  the  Pentecost,  in  exquisite  mosaic. 
They  have  a  softness  and  warmth  of  coloring,  a 
melting  delicacy  of  tint  and  shade,  which  I  did  not 
suppose  it  possible  for  this  kind  of  work,  in  its  high 
est  perfection,  to  reach.  Three  huge  candlesticks 
of  solid  silver  stand  in  front  of  the  jewelled  altar  ; 
and  it  is  astonishing  that  they  have  escaped  being 
coined,  in  the  present  disasters  and  poverty  of  Por 
tugal.  The  rest  of  the  church  has  nothing  re 
markably  attractive  or  imposing  ;  so  handing  our 
priest  a  crown  for  his  politeness,  we  took  our  leave. 
Our  next  resting  place  was  in  the  church  of 
Coracao  de  Jesus,  built  by  Queen  Maria  First,  in 
the  form  of  a  cross,  of  small  dimensions,  and  sur 
mounted  by  a  dome.  This  crazy  queen  believed 
she  had  come  in  actual  possession  of  the  heart  of 
our  Saviour ;  and  reared  this  church  as  a  monu 
mental  shrine,  befitting  the  last  deposit  of  this  pre 
cious  trust.  The  pope  discountenanced  this  article 
in  the  creed  of  her  religious  insanity ;  but  as  he 
could  not  "administer  to  a  mind  diseased,"  permit 
ted  her  to  indulge  her  fanatical  whims.  It  is  not 
strange  that  in  a  church,  where  every  thing  spirit 
ual  is  materialized,  and  embodied,  and  worshipped, 
that  these  wild  aberations  from  truth  and  reason 
should  occur.  It  is  a  greater  wonder  that  heaven 
itself  is  not  mapped  in  some  quarter  of  the  globe, 


STATUE    OF   JOSEPH.  119 

and  laid  down  to  feet  and  inches  in  fixed  lines. 
But  pluck  the  beam  from  thine  own  eye. 

Our  next  call  was  at  the  church  of  St.  Domin 
go,  which,  in  architectural  display,  is  perhaps  the 
finest  in  Lisbon.  The  walls  with  their  marble 
pilasters,  unbroken  by  a  gallery,  and  sweeping  up 
to  the  lofty  ceiling,  have  an  imposing  effect.  In 
the  centre  of  the  nave,  is  a  representation  of  our 
Saviour,  fainting  under  the  cross.  Of  the  many 
who  came  and  went,  while  we  were  there,  most  of 
them  kneeled  and  kissed  the  foot  of  this  statue. 
The  paintings  over  the  altars,  are  some  of  them 
happily  conceived,  and  executed  with  a  tolerable 
degree  of  taste.  In  this  church  the  royal  family 
attend  mass,  which  they  do  once  a  year,  on  Corpus 
Christi  day.  Their  piety  cannot,  therefore,  be  said 
to  be  of  the  most  ostentatious  kind;  though  the 
extensive  orchestra  is  now  being  fitted  up  for  this 
annual  occasion.  Kings  and  their  subjects,  masters 
and  slaves,  find  a  common  level  in  two  places — the 
foot  of  the  cross,  and  the  grave. 

The  next  place  at  which  we  brought  up,  to  use 
a  professional  term,  was  the  Placo  de  Commercio, 
in  the  centre  of  which  stands  the  equestrian  statue 
of  King  Joseph.  The  attitude  of  the  statue  is  exces 
sively  extravagant:  it  looks  like  ambition  overleaping 
itself;  and  the  clumsy  allegorical  figures,  grouped 
around  and  beneath  the  feet  of  the  horse,  add  to  this 
Hotspur  expression.  I  wonder  an  equestrian  statue 


120  THE    EARTHQUAKE. 

cannot  be  tolerated,  without  having  the  fore  feet  of 
the  charger  raised  as  high  as  if  he  were  attempting 
to  leap  into  the  moon.  Why  not  put  him  on  his 
four  feet,  where  nature  puts  him.  But  if  this  will 
not  do,  let  him  paw  the  ground  ;  and  if  any  thing 
more  is  necessary  to  express  his  impetuosity,  let  him 
foam  at  the  impatient  bit ;  but  do  not  heave  up  his 
fore  parts,  till  you  are  in  the  painful  apprehension 
that  he  will  land  on  his  stern  and  crush  his  rider. 
This  is  not  a  horse  rushing  into  battle,  or  out  of  it ; 
nor  is  it  one  lightly  prancing  in  the  gay  tourna 
ment. 

From  this  place,  we  rambled  to  that  section  of 
the  city,  which  was  most  disastrously  visited  by  the 
earthquake.  The  remains  of  temples,  palaces  and 
towers  still  totter  over  the  fatal  spot ;  yet  amid 
these  ghastly  ruins,  where  every  thing  seems  to 
portend  disaster,  many  an  elegant  dwelling  has 
been  reared,  where  hearts  are  now  gay  over  the 
graves  of  their  fathers.  Perhaps  it  is  a  felicitous 
provision  of  our  nature,  that  we  can  feel  secure  and 
be  happy,  where  others  have  perished  unwarned. 
The  earth  itself  is  but  one  vast  sepulchre;  every 
thing  that  regales  the  taste,  or  animates  the  eye, 
springs  from  corruption.  The  very  breeze,  that  is 
music  on  our  ear,  has  been  loaded  with  the  groans 
of  millions.  We  should  recollect,  in  our  exulting 
pride,  that  we  are  not  exempt  from  the  laws  of  mor 
tality,  or  that  gloomy  forgetfulness  which  hovers 


INQUISITION.  121 

over  the  realms  of  death.  Though  we  should  sink 
in  the  ingulfing  shock  of  the  earthquake,  or  the 
burning  flood  of  a  volcano,  yet  thousands  will  live 
and  smile  amid  the  frightful  monuments  of  our 
ruin.  The  sounds  of  merriment  and  revelry  have 
gone  up  for  ages  over  the  tombs  of  Herculaneum. 
The  catastrophe  which  destroyed  the  fairest 
portion  of  Lisbon,  would  have  been  less  destructive 
of  life,  had  the  population  remained  in  their  dwell 
ings,  or  fled  to  some  more  open  places,  instead  of 
rushing  into  their  churches.  These  huge  piles 
were  the  first  to  fall,  and  the  escape  of  a  solitary 
individual  could  have  been  little  less  than  miracu 
lous.  If  one  is  to  die,  it  may  be  desirable,  perhaps, 
to  undergo  the  dread  event  within  the  sacred  asso 
ciations  of  the  sanctuary.  But  if  one  wishes  to 
escape  destruction,  in  an  hour  when  his  own  dwell 
ing  begins  to  heave  to  and  fro,  it  is  the  last  refuge 
he  should  seek.  Yet  in  all  Catholic  countries,  the 
first  impulse  is  to  get  within  the  pictured  presence 
of  a  patron  saint,  or  of  the  blessed  Virgin,  as  if  these 
dependent  beings  had  the  power  to  suspend  the 
action  of  an  earthquake.  Far  be  it  from  me  though 
to  trifle  with  the  sentiment,  which  expresses  itself  in 
this  form ;  ignorance,  unless  it  be  willful,  is  not  a 
crime.  But  the  disaster  which  befell  this  city,  in 
all  the  ruin  of  its  work,  had  one  alleviating  feature, 
it  sunk  the  Inquisition— that  upper  he]l  of  intolerant 
bigotry,  and  fanatical  vengeance !  Let  a  man's 
11 


122  FORCED    FAITH. 

creed  rest  between  his  conscience  and  his  God, 
Give  him  all  the  lights  of  information  in  your 
power,  but  do  not  torture  him  into  a  confession  of 
your  particular  tenets.  There  are  no  engines  of 
belief  in  heaven,  nor  in  the  world  of  untold  sorrows. 
The  arch-apostate  finds  no  redeeming  creed,  await 
ing  his  burning  signature.  Compulsion  in  a  man's 
faith,  is  like  force  in  his  will,  they  both  violate  our 
most  sacred  rights  ;  and  the  assent  which  they 
compel,  is  as  destitute  of  virtuous  merit,  as  the 
yielding  of  one's  purse  to  a  robber.  Such  violence 
will  always  in  the  end,  re-act  on  its  source, — the 
robber  will  be  sent  to  the  gallows,  and  the  inquisi 
tion  to  the  devil. 

But  enough  of  this  rambling.  We  called  at 
Madam  Julia's  at  six  o'clock,  where  we  had  be 
spoken  a  dinner,  and  sat  down  to  a  plate  of  pea-soup, 
a  slice  of  broiled  veal,  and  a  few  poor  oranges  ;  for 
which  we  paid  eight  dollars.  It  was  in  vain  to 
question  the  equity  of  her  bill,  unless  you  were  pre 
pared  to  carry  on  the  dispute  in  all  the  languages, 
into  which  our  great  mother  tongue  was  split,  at 
the  tower  of  Babel.  If  it  be  wondered  why  we 
patronized  Madam  Julia,  in  her  barren  table  and 
exorbitant  demands,  the  true  answer  is  that  there  is 
not  a  respectable  hotel  in  all  Lisbon.  Hers,  with 
its  monkies,  parrot,  and  confusion  of  countless  dia 
lects,  is  after  all  the  most  decent.  She  followed  us 
again  quite  out  the  door,  descanting  on  the  profu- 


MADAM    JULIA.  . 

sions  of  her  table,  the  beauty  of  her  parrot,  and  the 
freshness  of  the  classics,  and  enjoining  it  upon  us 
not  to  forget  her  and  her  hotel.  Forget  thee  ? — 
dear  woman  ! — not  till  all  the  dead  languages  have 
been  forgotten,  and  the  living  have  ceased  to  be 
spoken  ! — not  till  a  chicken,  that  has  perished  of 
inanition,  be  nutritious  as  one,  fattened  at  the  tray  ! 
— not  till  an  orange,  eaten  up  of  its  own  ascidity,  be 
palatable  as  one,  with  its  sweet  juices  gushing 
through  its  yellow  rind  !  Forget  thee  ?  never!  — 

I'll  think  of  thee,  thy  parrot  and  hotel, 

Whene'er  I  see  a  lank,  voracious  shark, 
Darting  about  all  day  from  swell  to  swell, 

And  missing  every  where  his  flying  mark'; 
Till — finding  his  last  hope  and  effort  fail — 
He  turns  upon  himself,  and  eats  his  tail ! 

I'll  think  of  thee,  thy  parrot,  and  hotel, 

Whene'er  I  see  a  starving  crow  half  dead — 
Rattling  his  bones,  and  willing  now  to  sell 

His  very  soul — if  soul  he  had — for  bread  ; 
And  croaking  his  despair,  in  every  tongue, 
That  grief  or  madness  from  the  lip  hath  wrung  I 

I'll  think  of  thee,  thy  parrot  and  hotel, 

Whene'er  I  see  a  haggard  miser  die, — 
Half  feeing  him,  who  is  to  toll  the  bell, 

And  narrowing  down  the  grave  where  he  must  lie ; 
Nor  caring  whether  his  departing  knell, 
Follow  his  spirit's  flight  to  heaven  or  hell ! 


CHAPTER   XI. 


Excursion  to  Cintra— Scenery^— Marialva  Villa— Peter's  Prison— 
Penha  Convent— Royal  Palace— Visit  to  Mafra  Castle— Its  Ex 
tent—Richness—Singular  Origin— Return  to  Lisbon. 


A  PARTY  of  us  left  the  ship  this  morning  for 
Cintra — that  little  paradise  of  Portugal.  We  char 
tered  for  the  occasion  three  cabriolets,  provided  with 
stout  mules,  and  four  saddle  horses.  Thus  seated 
and  mounted,  we  left  the  city  by  the  Alcantra  sub 
urbs,  and  soon  emerged  into  a  country  of  an  ex 
tremely  light  soil,  with  here  and  there  a  conical 
hill,  upon  which  was  posted  one  of  Don  Quixotte's 
windmills.  It  was  not,  after  all,  so  strange  that 
this  valorous  knight  should  have  waged  mortal 
combat,  with  these  formidable  things  of  earth  and 
air,  for  they  look  vastly  more  like  brandishing  giants 
than  machines  merely  for  grinding  corn.  I  will 
defy  any  one  to  look  at  them  for  the  first  time, 
throwing  their  strong  arms  about  in  the  mysteries 
of  twilight,  and  not  feel  for  the  hilt  of  his  trusty 
blade.  And  then,  it  should  be  remembered,  that 
Don  was  just  establishing  his  character  for  courage 
and  chivalrous  devotion,  and  felt  it  incumbent  on 


EXCURSION.  125 

him  to  attack  every  thing  that  came  in  so  ques 
tionable  a  shape.  Let  Don  alone ;  he  was  not  so 
great  a  fool  as  some  of  his  self-styled  betters  would 
make  him  ;  he  was  a  little  on  the  extreme ;  but  one 
half  the  righting  in  the  world  hath  a  less  show  of 
reason  in  it. 

On  our  way  we  passed  Q,ueluz,  one  of  the  royal 
palaces,  standing  near  the  road,  with  extensive 
and  cool  gardens  in  the  rear.  The  building  itself 
is  long,  low  and  without  any  architectural  preten 
sions.  A  number  of  troops  were  paraded  in  front? 
who  showed  in  the  promptitude  and  crankness  of 
their  movements,  that  they  were  defending  the 
person  of  their  king.  A  soldier  guarding  a  mon 
arch,  and  a  boy  in  charge  of  a  baboon,  are  always 
full  of  pomp  and  circumstance.  A  few  miles  further 
brought  us  to  a  wine  arid  bread  shop,  where  our 
postillions  brought  suddenly  up,  declaring  it  impos 
sible  for  man  or  beast  to  go  further  without  refresh 
ment.  Our  horses  were  baited  on  coarse  bread, 
saturated  with  wine — their  grooms  on  the  same 
articles; — rather  a  dainty  provender,  whatever  it  may 
have  been  as  a  lunch.  We  now  resumed  our  seats1, 
urging  to  a  quicker  pace  our  anti-temperance 
team. 

The  heights  of  Cintra  slowly  appeared  in  soft 

romantic  relief  on  the  sky ;  and  the  country,  as  we 

advanced,   gradually  assumed  an  aspect  of  richer 

verdure.    As  we  wound  around  a  steep,  obstructing 

II* 


126  CINTRA. 

elevation,  the  sweet  village  of  Cintra  appeared 
nestled  in  the  drapery  of  a  wild  woodland,  about 
half  way  up  the  "  mountain  of  its  home."  The  very 
look  of  its  freshness  seemed  to  melt  into  one's  heart. 
It  was  like  a  green  bower,  on  an  arid  waste,  under 
a  scorching  sky.  We  stopped  at  the  hotel  of  De 
Costa — a  house  finely  in  keeping  with  the  place. 
We  had  been  over  five  hours  on  the  road,  though 
the  distance  is  but  eighteen  miles.  This  is  a  fine 
specimen  of  Portuguese  rapidity. 

After  an  hour's  repose,  and  a  grateful  refresh 
ment,  we  rambled  to  the  palace  of  the  Marquis  of 
Marialva — an  elegant  and  spacious  structure,  with 
grounds  rather  confined,  but  concentrating  a  good 
degree  of  beauty  and  variety.  This  villa  is  cele 
brated  for  the  convention,  in  which  the  French  sti 
pulated  with  Wellington  to  evacuate  Portugal.  The 
ink  which  Junot  scattered  in  his  indignant  reluc 
tance,  as  he  put  his  hand  to  the  instrument,  still 
stains  the  floor.  Silence  now  reigns  unbroken,  in 
its  spacious  halls  ;  the  Marialva  line,  so  celebrated 
in  Gil  Bias,  has  become  extinct.  Nobles  in  death 
have  but  one  advantage  over  their  vassals,  and  that 
is  the  unenviable  privilege  of  living  in  the  sarcastic 
wit  of  an  author. 

We  now  ascended  to  the  Penha  Verd  Q,uinta 
of  the  celebrated  Don  John  de  Castro,  who  only 
asked  of  his  sovereign  this  elevation,  in  consideration 
of  all  his  privations,  perils  and  conquests  in  India. 


127 

So  his  tomb-stone,  on  the  summit  declares  ;  and  this 
sentinel  of  death,  for  once  I  believe,  speaks  the 
truth.  We  have  in  the  present  case  no  great  occa 
sion  to  doubt  its  veracity,  for  of  all  situations  in 
Portugal,  this  is  universally  acknowledged  to  be  the 
most  beautiful  and  enchanting.  We  paused  for  a 
moment  in  a  sweet  garden  of  lilies,  tastefully  distri 
buted  in  parterres  of  box. 

We  were  then  taken  to  what  our  guide  called  St. 
Peter  in  prison.  The  dungeon  is  here  a  cool  grotto, 
lined  with  variegated  shells,  and  refreshened  with  a 
sparkling  fountain.  The  saint  is  represented  in 
marble,  with  the  chain  still  clinging  to  him ;  but  so 
quiet,  romantic,  and  wildly  attractive  is  his  situation, 
that  no  one  of  any  taste  would  think  of  running 
away  from  it.  Instead  of  a  sentiment  of  commise 
ration,  you  cannot  repress  the  desire  to  exchange 
conditions  with  the  captive.  Higher  up,  a  thick 
forest  of  cork,  pine,  elm,  myrtle,  orange  and  lemon 
cast  their  deep  fragrant  shade.  We  here  lost  our 
selves  in  a  labyrinth  of  paths,  and  a  dense  maze  of 
underwood,  cut  by  these  irregular  alleys,  into  every 
variety  of  shape.  We  emerged  at  the  tomb  of  the 
hero,  which  stands  on  a  high  airy  rock,  over 
looking  Cintra,  and  commanding  an  extensive 
view  of  the  ocean  as  it  rolls  its  world  of  waters 
beyond. 

Upon  the  very  summit  of  the  range,  we  found 
the  conspicuous  remains  of  a  Moorish  castle,  with 


128  PENHA    CONVENT. 

the  noble  lank  still  in  a  state  of  high  preservation. 
Near  by,  on  the  same  height,  stands  the  Penha  con 
vent,  which  one  might  suppose,  must  have  got  here, 
as  our  lady's  chapel  got  through  the  yielding  air,  to 
Loretto  ;  or  its  materials  must  have  been  taken  up 
before  balloons  became  the  frail  and  feeble  things 
that  we  now  find  them.  This  convent  was  plun 
dered  by  the  French.  Nothing  in  height  or  depth 
seems  to  have  escaped  their  rapacity ;  yet  these 
gentlemen  of  love  and  pillage,  robed  with  such  an 
exquisite  politeness,  that  even  their  victims  appear 
to  hold  them  in  the  most  gentle  recollection.  In  our 
descent,  upon  arriving  at  a  more  even  and  thickly 
shaded  spot,  we  encountered  three  lusty  beggars, 
who  had  come  with  two  guitars  and  a  fiddle,  to 
give  us  a  concert :  we  paid  them  in  advance  and 
passed  on.  At  six,  we  reached  our  hotel,  and  sat 
down  to  an  excellent  dinner. 

Upon  rising  from  the  table  some  took  to  the  lux 
ury  of  the  siesta,  while  a  few  of  us  improved  the 
lingering  light  in  a  visit  to  the  old  Royal  Palace. 
We  found  here  no  guard,  no  king,  not  even  a  sprig 
of  nobility,  but  a  polite  old  porter,  happy  to  show  us 
every  thing,  for  the  sake  of  his  fee.  He  pointed  out 
the  room  where  Sebastian  held  his  last  counsel,  pre 
vious  to  his  fatal  expedition  to  Africa  ;  and  seemed 
unwilling  to  believe  that  he  would  never  return  ! 
He  pointed  out  the  room,  where  King  Alonzo  Sixth 
was  imprisoned,  and  the  pavement  in  which  his  soli- 


BYRON.  129 

tary  steps  have  left  a  deep  track,  and  then  descanted 
upon  it  with  a  sorrowful  earnestness,  that  almost 
flooded  one's  eyes.  On  our  return  to  the  hotel,  we 
found  the  yard  full  of  women  and  children,  with  a 
thousand  little  articles  of  their  own  fabrication  to 
sell.  We  purchased  a  multitude  of  them,  not 
from  any  want  of  the  articles,  or  that  they  could 
be  of  the  slightest  use  ;  but  a  man  is  always  more 
charitable  in  a  foreign  country  than  he  is  in  his 
own. 

The  evening  passed  off  in  easy  pleasantries 
and  we  retired  at  a  late  hour  to  rest,  Captain  Reed, 
as  the  Agamemnon  of  the  party,  to  that  chamber 
which  Byron  occupied,  on  his  visit  to  this  place. 
It  was  here  the  youthful  poet  nourished  those  feel 
ings,  which  subsequently  flowed  off  in  a  current  of 
sorrowful  harmony,  that  will  live  till  grief  and  me 
lody  have  ceased  to  affect  man.  The  chain  of  sym 
pathy,  which  binds  him  to  the  profound  sensibilities 
of  our  nature,  can  never  be  broken.  He  had  all 
the  elements  of  poetic  power,  in  the  most  exalted 
degree-;  and  if  he  failed  of  reaching  his  noblest 
destiny,  it  may  be  ascribed,  in  some  measure,  to 
that  singular  fatality,  which  seems  ever  to  attend 
a  consciousness  of  great  force,  and  originality  of 
genius,  but  more  to  the  want  of  a  deep  abiding  sense 
of  the  responsibility,  which  such  rare  gifts,  and  such 
a  sway  over  the  human  heart  impose.  Had  he  pos 
sessed  this,  it  would  have  saved  him — sustained  him 


130 


MAFRA    CASTLE. 


in  his  lofty  career — nor  left  us  as  much  to  weep  and 
shudder  over  as  admire : — 

But  he  betrayed  his  trust,  and  lent  his  gift 
Of  glorious  faculties,  to  blight  and  mar 

The  moral  universe,  and  set  adrift 
The  anchored  hopes  of  millions  :— Thus  the  star 

Of  his  eventful  destiny,  became 

A  wild  and  wandering  orb  of  fearful  flame. 

That  orb  hath  set ;  yet  still  its  lurid  light 
Flashes  above  the  broad  horizon's  verge  ; 

As  if  some  comet,  plunging  from  its  height, 
Should  pause  upon  the  ocean's  boiling  surge, 

And  in  defiance  of  its  darksome  doom, 

Light  for  itself  a  fierce  volcanic  tomb  ! 

The  morning  of  our  second  day  at  Cintra,  found 
us  mounted  upon  a  pack  of  hugely  saddled  and  cush 
ioned  donkiesj  on  our  way  to  Mafra  castle.  The 
distance  is  nine  miles,  over  a  road  as  intolerable  as 
one  can  well  imagine ;  we  were  more  than  three 
hours  getting  through  it,  but  were  amply  compen 
sated  in  the  end,  for  all  our  back  and  leg-breaking 
toils.  Mafra  has  been  justly  called  the  Escurial  of 
Portugal ;  its  proportions  are  all  upon  a  lofty  mag 
nificent  scale ;  it  contains  a  splendid  palace,  an  ex 
tensive  convent,  and  a  church  of  cathedral  dimen 
sions.  I  can  almost  believe,  as  Murphy  informs  us, 
that  from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  men  were  em 
ployed,  for  thirteen  years  in  its  erection  and  com 
pletion.  The  church  is  lined  and  paved  with  mar 
ble  ;  it  contains  nine  altars,  of  a  reflecting  polish, 
glowing  with  jewels,  and  surrounded  with  statues; 
and  six  organs,  the  beauty  of  which,  is  equaled  only 
by  their  richness  of  tone.  I  was  never  so  sensible 


PALACE    AND   LIBRARY.  131 

of  the  aid,  which  devotion  may  derive  from  exter 
nal  realities,  as  when  standing  in  the  vast  solitude  of 
this  church,  with  its  lofty  dome,  its  twilight  gloom, 
and  the  solemn  anthem  of  the  organs  filling  and 
moving  the  whole,  with  a  profound  majestic  melody. 
The  palace  is  as  magnificently  ample,  as  one 
would  suppose  an  emperor  of  the  world  might  de 
sire.  We  were  shown  the  luxurious  couch,  upon 
which  the  monarch  may  seek  in  vain  that  repose, 
which  the  cabined  slave  freshly  enjoys.  The  mar 
ble  font,  which  almost  invades  the  regal  couch,  can 
contain  no  purer  water,  than  the  peasant  finds  in 
the  brook  that  murmurs  past  his  humble  cottage ; 
and  the  mirrors  with  their  smooth,  broad  expanse, 
which  line  the  royal  apartments,  cannot  present 
more  perfectly  one's  second  self,  than  the  tranquil 
stream  into  which  Eve  first  looked  and  "  timidly 
withdrew."  The  Convent  is  sufficiently  ample  to 
contain  all  the  monks  of  a  moderate  realm  ;  but  the 
stillness  of  the  apartments  is  broken  only  here  and 
there,  by  the  steps  of  the  solitary.  The  library,  in 
its  spacious  hall  of  some  hundred  feet,  casts  at  once 
its  fifty  thousand  volumes  on  the  eye.  The  specta 
tor  stands  literally  overwhelmed  with  the  learning  of 
the  dead.  Few  of  the  books  are  in  English  ;  most 
of  the  ancient  classics  may  be  seen,  while  a  great 
many  of  them  are  on  ecclesiastical  subjects,  whose 
authors  have  long  since  gone  to  the  reality  of  their 
devout  conjectures. 


132        ORIGIN  OP  THE  CASTLE. 

On  ascending  to  the  top  of  this  vast  edifice,  we 
found  an  area  wide  enough  to  furnish  footing  for  a 
military  force,  adequate  to  the  defence  of  the  whole. 
While  here,  we  were  favored  with  a  concerto  from 
fifty  of  the  one  hundred  and  twenty  bells,  which  swing 
in  the  towers.  The  music  of  these  reeling  organs 
might  awaken  the  multitudes  of  a  slumbering  city 
to  their  matins :  but  there  is  no  such  city  near,  to 
be  thus  musually  aroused.  Mafra  stands  in  the 
midst  of  a  desert ;  a  few  humble  huts  only  break 
the  sterile  solitude.  This  vast  pile,  in  all  its  rich 
ness  and  magnificence,  was  reared  and  furnished  on 
the  sanctity  and  force  of  a  conjectural  dream.  The 
king  was  informed,  in  his  desponding  hopes  of  an 
heir  to  his  throne,  that  his  wishes  might  be  realized, 
by  founding  and  endowing  a  convent  here.  Thus 
were  the  foundations  laid ;  the  future  monarch  soon 
made  his  appearance,  and  the  king,  regarding  this 
as  a  divine  interposition  and  sanction,  the  work 
went  on,  till  the  stupendous  whole,  with  convent, 
church  and  palace,  were  completed.  Never  did  the 
prediction  of  a  monk  cost  his  sovereign  more. 
Whether,  as  scandal  reports,  the  prophet  was  con 
cerned  in  the  fulfillment  of  his  childish  prediction 
is  more  than  I  can  say ;  but  surely  it  was  an  ex 
tremely  expensive  babe  to  Portugal.  The  castle, 
with  all  its  appendages,  is  as  much  lost  to  the 
realm  and  the  world,  as  it  would  be,  if  it  were 
located  in  the  desart  of  Sahara.  It  is  here  visited 


RETURN   TO   CINTRA.  133 

only  by  the  curious  traveler,  and  it  would  there 
catch  occasionally  the  glance  of  a  passing  caravan. 

After  the  refreshments  of  a  crust  of  bread  and  a 
glass  of  sour  wine,  furnished  in  a  sort  of  hovel — 
the  only  inn-accommodations  of  which  the  place  can 
boast — we  started,  in  a  drenching  shower,  for  Cintra. 
Mrs.  R.  had  fortunately  been  able  to  get  the  loan  of 
a  large  coarse  cloak,  in  which,  with  the  courteous 
assistance  of  Lieutenant  C.  she  wrapped  herself,  into 
the  semblance  of  a  sister  of  the  strictest  order.  Her 
transformation  was  so  sudden  and  entire,  as  she 
appeared  thus  hooded  and  swathed,  and  holding  on 
in  the  drifting  rain,  to  a  little  sorry  donkey,  not 
larger  than  a  good  sized  sheep,  that  I  could  not  at 
first,  though  in  a  most  pitiable  plight  myself,  pre 
serve  my  gravity  of  countenance.  Nothing  but  the 
irresistable  force  of  this  sentiment  of  the  ludicrous', 
saved  it  from  an  appearance  of  rudeness.  But  the 
value  of  a  diamond  is  not  the  less  for  being  sprink 
led  with  dust,  or  dashed  with  mud. 

Cintra  never  appeared  more  sweet  and  beautiful, 
than  as  we  approached  it  on  our  return.  Some  por 
tions  of  its  ascending  range  were  covered  with  the 
shadows  of  a  passing  cloud,  while  others  smiled 
out  in  the  clear  light  of  a  warm  sun.  The  cascade, 
now  freshly  replenished  by  the  shower,  came  leap 
ing  down  from  cliff  to  cliff,  with  life  and  joy  in  its 
motion  and  voice :  here  the  bold  rock  broke  into 
stronger  relief,  with  its  moss-covered  front ;  there 
12 


134  PORTUGUESE    OFFICERS. 

the  elm  and  cork  threw  out  their  giant  limbs ; 
while  upon  elevations  of  a  gentler  genius,  clusters  of 
neat  cottages  were  seen,  embowered  in  vines : 
higher  up,  and  more  in  keeping  with  the  majesty  of 
the  spot,  the  princely  villa,  surrounded  with  forest 
trees,  presented  a  portion  of  its  stately  walls,  or  the 
white  range  of  its  gleaming  pillars  ;  and  over  the 
whole,  a  warm,  soft  tint  was  sprinkled,  which 
seemed  to  blend  itself  into  the  varied  beauty  of  the 
scene.  Cintra  is  the  Eden  of  this  realm — Mafra  a 
stupendous  monument  of  its  superstitious  folly. 

The  morning  of  our  third  day  at  Cintra  was 
overcast ;  and  frequent  showers  determined  us  to 
defer  our  ruturn  to  Lisbon  till  the  evening.  In  the 
mean  time  we  formed  a  passing  accidental  acquaint 
ance  with  two  Portuguese  officers,  of  rank  and 
accomplishments,  who  were  temporary  lodgers  with 
our  excellent  landlord.  They  were  gentlemen  of 
the  lyre  as  well  as  sword.  One  of  them  touched 
the  guitar  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  the  other 
had  eminently  the  sweet  gifts  of  a  melodious  voice. 
They  played  and  sung  at  intervals  for  an  hour  or 
two,  in  compliment  to  Mrs.  R.,  who  returned  the 
obligation  by  a  few  Italian  airs  in  her  best  style. 
We  invited  them  to  dine  with  us ;  and  among 
other  topics  which  floated  around,  was  one  calcu 
lated  to  detect  their  political  leaning.  They  were 
asked  with  a  profound  affectation  of  ignorance, 
what  could  be  the  object  of  the  English  in  sending, 


RETURN    TO    LISBON.  135 

at  this  particular  time,  so  large  a  naval  force  to  the 
Tagus.  One  of  them  promptly  replied,  that  the 
English  were  remarkably  fond  of  the  comedy,  and 
understanding  that  one  was  to  be  acted  at  Lisbon, 
they  had  come  to  witness  it.  Never  was  there  an 
answer,  upon  which  a  man's  life  may  perhaps  have 
depended,  more  quick  or  guarded,  than  this.  Such 
men  will  never  lose  their  heads,  whatever  may  be 
the  result  of  the  quarrel  between  Miguel  and  his 
brother.  And  they  are  right ;  I  would  as  soon 
peril  my  life  upon  a  question,  of  the  comparative 
strength  of  the  square  or  triangle  construction  of  a 
cob-house,  as  that  of  legitimacy  in  sovereigns. 

Taking  leave  of  our  worthy  landlord,  whom 
with  his  ever  cheerful  wife,  agreeable  house,  and 
well-furnished  table,  I  would  recommend  to  all  tra 
velers,  we  started  on  our  return  to  Lisbon.  We 
arrived  quite  late  in  the  evening,  and  put  up  at 
Madam  Julia's  hotel.  The  monkey  had  ceased  his 
pranks,  the  parrot  was  silent,  and  even  Madam 
Julia  herself  did  riot  seem  to  speak  in  so  many  lan 
guages  as  usual.  This  was  owing  probably  to  the 
fact,  that  even  the  tongue  is  not  entirely  exempt 
from  that  weariness  which  incessant  exertion  im 
parts.  The  servant  boy  of  Captain  Read,  whose 
horse  had  run  away  with  him,  and  whom  we  had 
not  seen  for  hours,  now  rushed  in,  and  by  way  of 
apology  for  his  absence,  told  how  the  animal  had 
failed  him  three  times  ;  while  another  proverb  in 


136  RETURN    TO   LISBON. 

Arabic,  from  our  hostess,  settled  the  point,  that  it  is 
safer  to  walk  than  ride,  inasmuch  as  the  pedes 
trian  has  four  the  less  legs  to  take  care  of.  So, 
having  established  this  great  truth  in  probable  acci 
dents,  we  retired  to  rest.  But  Cintra  was  all  night 
in  my  dream  ! — 

It  floated  there,  as  some  sweet  fairy  land 
Of  fragrant  flowers,  for  birds  ana  bees  to  sip, — 

Where  cnrystal  streams  glide  o'er  the  golden  sand, 
And  fruits  of  nectar  greet  the  gushing  lip  ; — 

Where  life's  a  careless  round  of  rest  and  play, — 

A  childhood  mid  the  merriest  things  of  May. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


Lisbon— Street— Dogs— Don  Miguel— Habits  of  the  Females— Friara 
and  Monks — Perils  of  Night- Walking— Impositions  on  Strangers 
— A  blind  Musician — Political  Disasters. 


APPROACHING  Lisbon  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Tagus,  it  has  the  appearance  of  a  truly  magni 
ficent  city.  The  lofty  buildings,  with  their  white 
walls,  and  airy  turrets,  stretch  far  up  a  finely 
ascending  plafae.  But  as  you  approach  it  more 
nearly,  and  wander  through  it,  your  admiration 
ceases,  and  you  become  excessively  disgusted  with 
the  rags  of  the  rabble,  and  the  narrowness  and 
filth  of  the  streets.  The  inclined  position  of 
Lisbon  would  render  its  cleanliness  perfectly  feasi 
ble  ;  but  no  attention  is  given  to  the  matter,  except 
what  exists  in  some  municipal  regulations,  which 
affect  the  canine  portion  of  the  community.  Dogs 
are  the  only  authorised  scavengers,  and  for  their  ser 
vices  in  this  respect,  are  granted  certain  rights  and 
immunities.  They  swarm  through  the  streets,  espe 
cially  at  night,  and  so  obstruct  the  narrow  passages, 
that  you  are  continually  stumbling  over  them. 

The  French,  while  here,  bayoneted  these  sca- 
12* 


138  STREETS    AND    DOGS. 

vengers  by  the  hundreds;  and  compelled  those  who 
move  on  two  legs,  to  take  their  place.  The  effect 
of  course,  was  a  more  clean  and  healthy  city  ;  but 
the  French  are  gone,  and  the  dogs  are  reinstated  in 
their  ancient  rights.  I  have  seen  no  personal  vio 
lence  offered  to  any  of  them,  except  by  the  king. 
His  majesty  is  in  the  habit  of  riding  through  the 
city  upon  a  very  fleet  horse,  and  carrying  in  his 
hand  a  prodigiously  long  wand,  with  which  he 
exhibits  his  muscular  power,  and  brachial  dexterity, 
in  knocking  over  these  poor  Trays.  His  aim  is 
sure,  and  his  blow  certain  death.  I  saw  him  in  the 
course  of  a  few  minutes,  knock  several  of  them 
entirely  out  of  existence,  and  that  too — which  made 
the  case  rather  a  hard  one — while  they  were  pick 
ing  the  filth  out  of  their  monarch's  path.  But  the 
dogs  are  now  becoming  extremely  shy  of  their  king, 
and  are  manifesting  their  sagacity  by  a  timely 
escape  from  the  reach  of  his  wand.  .  They  detect  at 
a  distance  the  rapid  sound  of  his  charger's  hoof,  and 
instantly  take  to  flight,  after  the  true  old  maxim — 
let  those  escape  who  can,  arid  the  devil  take  the 
hindermost. 

It  is  not  safe  for  one,  who  respects  his  olfacto 
ries,  or  his  apparel,  to  be  in  the  streets  of  Lisbon 
after  ten  at  night.  The  goddess  of  Cloacina  begins 
to  reign  at  that  hour,  and  her  offerings  are  cast 
down  indiscriminately  from  every  upper  window. 
Her  altars,  which  in  every  other  city  are  under 


OFFENSIVE    CUSTOM.  139 

ground,  are  here  the  open  pavement ;  and  woe  to 
the  luckless  wight  who  happens  to  be  passing  at  the 
time  of  oblations ;  he  will  think  of  any  thing 
but  the  sweet  scents  of  Araby,  and  the  pure  waters 
of  Helicon.  How  the  ungentle  worship  of  this  god 
dess  should  be  thus  fashionably  tolerated,  is  incon 
ceivable  ;  it  is  enough  to  drive  all  romance  and 
knighterrantry  out  of  a  city  ! 

I  wonder  not  that  poetry  has  ceased  here,  that 
the  harp  is  unstrung,  and  the  minstrel  gone.  How 
Love  should  linger  under  the  embarrassments  and 
perils  of  such  a  dodging  existence,  is  a  mystery. 
But  this  little  fellow  of  the  purple  wing,  and  laugh 
ing  eye,  is  somehow  the  last  to  leave  any  commu 
nity.  He  manages  to  remain,  whatever  may  betide, 
else  he  would  have  long  since  taken  his  departure 
from  Lisbon,  and  left  its  daughters  to  their  deso 
late  hearts,  their  silent  tears,  and  worse — their 
broken  guitars ! 

Political  disasters  and  jealousies  here  have  nearly 
broken  up  those  little  intimacies,  which  used  to  pre 
vail  in  families  of  the  same  rank,  and  upon  which 
depend  the  social  enjoyments  of  every  community. 
Ladies  are  now  seldom  seen  in  any  considerable  num 
bers,  except  at  worship  ;  and  here  they  meet  at  all 
hours  of  the  day.  You  may  pass  from  church  to 
church,  and  find  in  the  nave  of  each,  large  groups  of 
well-dressed  females.  The  most  young  and  fashion 
able  assume  a  position  in  advance  of  the  others ; 


140  HABITS   OF    THE    FEMALES. 

coming  in,  they  first  kneel,  cross  themselves,  move 
their  lips  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  assume  a  sit 
ting  posture  on  the  clean  marble  pavement,  with 
their  small  feet  drawn  up  under  them,  something 
after  the  Turkish  fashion.  They  sit  here  by  the 
half  day  ;  and  when  there  is  no  public  service  going 
on,  which  is  usually  the  case,  they  amuse  them 
selves  in  whispering  over  to  each  other  those  little 
things  of  which  ladies  are  prone  to  be  fond.  To 
the  young  gentlemen,  who  are  probably  attracted 
here  more  by  the  worshipers,  than  the  worshiped, 
they  never  speak,  except  with  their  eyes  ;  but  these 
organs,  with  them,  have  a  language  more  true  to 
the  instincts  of  the  heart,  than  any  dialect  of  the 

HP. 

These  whispering  and  glancing  assemblages,  are 
more  excusable  here,  than  they  would  be  in  our 
country.  Ladies  with  us,  may  meet  when  and 
where  they  please,  and  almost  whom  they  please  ; 
but  here  these  social  indulgencies  are  not  known  ; 
and  it  is  a  very  natural  consequence  that  the  ladies 
should  avail  themselves  of  the  facilities,  which  the 
church  and  balcony  afford,  for  evading  these  irk 
some  restrictions.  A  lady  who  does  not  dare  to 
afford  you  a  passing  look,  as  you  meet  her  in  the 
street,  will  in  the  church,  knock  aside  her  mantilla 
with  her  fan,  and  divide  her  glance  between  you 
and  the  image  of  the  blessed  Virgin  :  or,  if  you  are 
passing  near  her  balcony,  she  will  dart  upon  you 


FRIARS    AND    MONKS.  141 

all  the  sweet  attractions  of  her  unveiled  face.  Un 
reasonable  and  indiscriminate  restraints,  promote 
neither  the  cause  of  religion,  or  virtue.  They  con 
vert  the  sanctuary  into  an  ogling  room,  and  the 
balustered  window  into  an  amatory  bower. 

The  friars  and  monks  of  Lisbon,  are  apparently 
the  best  fed  people  in  it;  they  have  a  majestic 
corpulency  of  person,  which  reminds  one  of  the 
good  cheer,  which  sir  Jack,  of  sack  memory,  so 
much  admired.  You  meet  them  at  every  turn,  in 
their  black  flowing  robes,  sandals,  silver-buckled 
shoes ;  and  hats  of  enormous  brim.  They  move 
along  with  that  gentlemanly,  good-natured,  slow 
pace,  which  heeds  not  the  flight  of  time.  They 
have  none  of  that  thin,  thinking,  anxious  look, 
which  converts  the  closet  and  pulpit  into  a  befitting 
refuge  for  ghosts ;  but  they  have  that  full,  fat,  jolly 
cast  of  countenance,  which  lets  the  world  pass  for 
better  or  worse,  and  which  well  becomes  a  man, 
who  knows  that  he  can  shrive  a  Sodom  of  its  sins 
in  a  minute,  or  exorcise  the  devil  out  of  as  many 
millions  as  there  are  sands  on  the  sea-shore.  There 
is  something  in  this  full,  well-fed  look  of  unconcern 
about  this  world,  and  the  next,  which  makes  a 
man's  conscience  set  easy  upon  him,  and  he  begins 
to  feel  the  flesh  thicken  upon  his  own  bones. 

The  vow  of  celibacy  in  these  fat,  easy  men,  does 
not — if  there  be  any  truth  in  scandal — seriously 
interfere  with  their  domestic  pleasures.  They  have 


142  DWELLING    HOUSES. 

no  wives,  it  is  true,  but  the  Foundling  Hospitals, 
which  are  extensive  and  liberally  endowed,  have 
within  them,  according  to  report,  many  a  sacer 
dotal  likeness ;  and  these  little  fellows  of  ambigu 
ous  parentage,  will,  many  of  them,  come  forth  one 
day  to  confess  their  betters,  and  run  the  career  of 
their  worthy  fathers.  The  thing  runs  round  in  a 
rich  voluptuous  circle,  far  above  the  intrusions  of 
an  impertinent  conscience,  and  the  insulting  terrors 
of  a  threatened  hell.  Such  a  life  is  worth  having, 
and  branded  be  the  heretic  that  questions  its  sanc 
tity.  It  is  not,  to  be  sure,  in  exact  accordance  with 
the  habits  of  the  Apostles ;  but  those  men  of  lea 
thern  girdles,  were  foolish  martyrs  to  their  self- 
denying  zeal.  They  lived  in  times,  when  the 
absolving  functions  of  popes  and  priests  were  not 
known ;  why  then  should  their  example  be  quoted 
in  these  good  easy  times,  when  there  is  no  ignorance 
to  be  enlightened,  and  no  depravity  to  be  restrained. 
Let  the  world  turn  round  on  its  axle,  and  let  us  all 
jog  quietly  along  into  heaven.  But  enough  of  this ! 
The  sentinel  who  sleeps  on  his  post,  forfeits  his  life, 
and  the  minister  of  Christ,  who  slumbers  over  his 
responsibilities,  perishes  with  a  double  doom  ! 

The  dwelling  houses  of  Lisbon  are  many  of 
them  five  and  six  stories  in  height ; — each  loft  has 
its  family  and  restricted  accommodations ;  a  broad 
dirty  common  stairway  leads  up  through  the  whole ; 
and  the  rent  decreases  with  the  altitude.  I  wonder 


NIGHT-WALKING.  143 

at  this,  for  so  intolerably  filthy  are  many  of  the 
streets,  which  are  continually  sending  up  their  nox 
ious  exhalations,  that  I  would  get  if  possible  into 
the  highest  loft,  though  it  reached  the  moon. 

It  is  as  much  as  a  man's  life  is  worth,  to  attempt 
to  get  through  the  city  by  night :  there  are  no  lights, 
except  here  and  there  a  glimmer  from  some  case 
ment,  which  only  serves  the  more  to  bewilder  ;  -and 
you  stumble  along,  through  dirt,  and  gogs,  and 
darkness,  till  you  fall  at  last  into  some  foul  ditch,  or 
bring  up  against  some  sturdy,  black-visaged  fellow, 
who  accosts  you  with  a  demand  for  your  purse. 
Many  a  poor  stranger,  after  having  thus  battered 
his  shins,  lost  his  hat,  and  bedabbled  himself  with 
mud,  has  ended  the  night's  disasters  by  being  robbed, 
and  then  perhaps  murdered.  I  experienced  one 
night  all  but  the  last  incident,  and  I  should  prefer 
being  assassinated  in  any  place  to  this,  for  I  should 
not  have  even  the  miserable  consolation  of  believing, 
that  my  murderer  would  be  detected,  and  made  an 
example  of  warning  to  the  rest  of  his  nocturnal 
profession.  Law  here  runs  upon  accidents ;  it  is 
like  a  wolf  plunging  through  a  bramble,  he  may 
crush  a  snake,  but  he  is  much  more  likely  to  pounce 
on  a  lamb. 

The  traveler  in  Lisbon  is  imposed  upon  in  every 
conceivable  shape ;  he  is  besieged  by  beggars,  pil 
fered  by  pickpockets,  cheated  by  his  hostess,  and 
plundered  by  his  cicerone.  I  inquired  this  morning 


144  IMPOSITIONS. 

of  a  cocheiro  what  he  would  charge  to  take  me  a 
short  distance,  to  a  place  which  I  named.  He  stated 
his  price  in  reesj  a  coin  with  which  I  was  not 
familiar  ;  a  third  individual  watching  my  embarrass 
ment,  touched  his  hat,  and  observed  that  the  price 
named  by  the  cocheiro,  was  five  Spanish  dollars, 
and  offered  very  kindly  to  take  the  money,  pay  him 
and  see  he  did  his  duty.  But  before  he  had  finished 
his  story,  a  fourth  came  up,  and  drawing  me  slightly 
aside,  said  that  the  price  demanded  by  the  cocheiro, 
was  only  four  dollars,  and  that  the  man  had  stated 
it  to  be  five,  for  the  sake  of  pocketing  one  himself, 
and  offered  generously  to  take  the  sum,  and  pay  it 
over,  lest  there  should  be  some  misunderstanding 
and  I  should  after  all  be  cheated ;  I  hesitated,  not 
liking  the  price,  or  the  man's  solicitude,  when  a  fifth 
person  drawing  near  whispered  that  he  had  a  word 
to  say  to  me  ;  when  turning  away  a  step  or  two  with 
him,  he  said  that  these  two  men  were  the  greatest 
cheats  in  Lisbon,  that  they  imposed  on  all  strangers, 
that  the  price  of  the  cocheiro  was  simply  three 
dollars,  that  he  would  take  the  money  and  perhaps 
he  might  be  able  to  beat  him  down,  even  a  trifle 
below  that  sum.  I  was  not,  however,  quite  so  green 
in  the  world,  as  to  be  caught  yet,  and  observing  a 
Portuguese  merchant,  with  whom  I  had  become 
acquainted,  passing,  I  got  him  to  explain  to  me  the 
amount  of  the  price  named  at  first  by  the  cocheiro ; 
and  it  proved  to  be  only  two  dollars  !  The  reason 


HOTELS    OF    LISBON.  145 

the  cocheiro  did  not  interfere,  and  rescue  me  from 
the  friendship  of  these  interpreters,  was  that  they 
spoke  very  low  and  in  broken  English,  which  he 
could  not  comprehend, — or  there  might  have  been 
an  understanding,  between  him  and  these  kind  souls ; 
for  after  all  I  got  cheated,  and  paid  about  twice  as 
much  as  the  usual  price.  A  stranger  here  wants 
an  eye  in  every  hair  of  his  head,  and  then  if  this 
scull-cap  be  a  wig  he  will  lose  it ! 

The  traveler  will  find  but  little  choice  between 
the  hotels  of  Lisbon  ;  they  are  all  miserable,  perhaps 
Madam  Julia's  the  least  so.  If  his  linguistical  host 
ess  presses  him  too  hard,  on  the  subject  of  ancient 
languages,  he  must  adopt  a  similar  expedient  to  the 
one,  which  I  took  refuge  in  last  evening  ;  for  as  this 
representative  of  all  languages,  especially  the  dead, 
came  waddling  to  a  chair  near  my  side,  commencing 
even  before  she  had  rolled  into  her  seat,  a  dissertation 
on  the  relative  force  of  Cicero  and  Demosthenes,  I 
happened  to  look  out  at  an  open  window,  and  dis 
covering  a  blind  man  with  a  violin,  led  by  a  lad, 
who  carried  a  guitar,  dispatched  a  servant  with 
instructions  to  invite  them  in.  Madam  Julia  de 
clared  a  man  must  be  out  of  his  wits,  who  could 
prefer  such  music  as  that  to  the  eloquence  of  the 
classics,  and  that  she  was  not  accustomed  to  have 
beggars  in  her  parlor.  I  told  her  the  fiddle  must 
come,  or  I  should  go,  and  ordered  two  good  suppers 
prepared  for  my  new  guests.  The  last  order  par- 
13 


146  BLIND    MUSICIAN. 

tially  reconciled  madam,  to  the  introduction  of  the 
strangers,  and  the  sudden  breaking  off  of  the  literary 
discussion. 

My  new  acquaintances  entered  :  one  was  a  man 
of  sixty,  cleanly  clad,  and  perfectly  blind;  the 
other  was  his  son  a  lad  of  twelve  years,  with  a  very 
bright,  intelligent  countenance.  I  inquired  of  the 
old  gentleman  how  long  he  had  been  blind  ;  he 
replied :  "  From  my  early  childhood,  sir."  "  And 
do  you  not  find,"  I  asked,  "  a  consolation  for  this 
visual  deprivation  in  this  violin."  "  It  is  the  only 
thing,"  he  replied,  "that  reconciles  rne  to  life." 
"  And  would  you  not,"  I  thoughtlessly  asked,  "  be 
willing  to  part  for  ever  with  this  instrument,  on  con 
dition  you  could  recover  your  sight  ?"  He  seemed 
to  hesitate  a  moment  and  then  said,  "  That,  sir,  is 
rather  a  difficult  question."  After  supper,  in  which 
the  boy  betrayed  a  truly  filial  and  amiable  disposi 
tion,  in  assisting  his  blind  father  to  the  coffee  and 
different  dishes,  they  played  for  an  hour  ;  and  I 
have  rarely  been  more  entertained.  Nature  seems 
to  have  made  up,  in  music,  to  the  bereaved  man, 
what  misfortune  had  deprived  him  of,  in  the  loss  of 
his  sight.  His  voice  flows  into  the  full  harmony  of 
his  violin,  with  expressive  richness  and  force.  I 
would  exchange  to-day  the  use  of  one  eye,  at  least 
for  the  musical  gift  of  voice,  and  the  magical  power 
over  the  violin,  which  this  blind  man  possesses.  In 
any  country,  capable  of  appreciating  and  awarding 


CONDITION    OP.  PORTUGAL.  147 

merit,  so  far  from  mendicity,  he  would  rise  at  once 
to  affluence  ;  but  here,  the  unworthy  seem  to  pros 
per,  and  the  meritorious  to  starve.  The  perform 
ance  of  the  lad,  was  astonishing  for  one  of  his  years  ; 
but  he  had  been  trained,  as  his  father  informed  me, 
almost  from  his  infancy  to  the  guitar.  On  parting 
with  these  new  friends,  I  put  into  the  hand  of  the 
boy  what  little  money,  the  extravagant  charges  of 
Madam  Julia  had  left,  and  only  regretted  it  was 
not  more. 

The  resources  of  Portugal  are  now  in  a  most 
wretched  condition.  She  has  squandered  her 
wealth,  in  the  prosecution  of  schemes,  which  have 
ended  only  in  abortion, — in  the  continuance  of 
wars,  which  have  terminated  in  her  disgrace, — and 
in  the  support  of  an  overgrown  ecclesiastical  esta 
blishment,  that  now  weighs  like  a  crushing  incu 
bus,  upon  the  poor  remnants  of  her  strength.  Her 
capitalists  are  deterred  from  investments,  by  the 
insecurity  of  property ;  her  merchants  have  lost  their 
enterprise,  in  the  onerous  restrictions  of  commerce ; 
and  her  oppressed  peasantry,  discouraged  and  bro 
ken-hearted,  have  retired  to  their  hovels  to  die  !  Nor 
in  a  political  aspect  is  she  less  degraded  and  mise 
rable.  Her  throne  is  the  subject  of  a  violent  frater 
nal  conflict  ;  her  towns  and  villages  are  converted 
into  lawless  camps  ;  and  her  more  worthy  citizens 
are  sent  into  exile,  to  the  scaffold,  and  the  dungeon  ! 
Freedom  of  opinion,  nobleness  of  demeanor,  na- 


148  CONDITION    OF    PORTUGAL. 

tional  pride,  and  self-respect,  have  all  perished  from 
her  soil,  or  survive  only  in  some  dark,  indignant 
recess  !  These  are  the  fruits  of  a  doting,  driveling 
despotism,  that  has  ever  manifested  its  imbecility,  by 
the  pursuit  of  schemes  visionary  and  impracticable  ; 
that  has  long  betrayed  its  ignorance,  by  confounding 
a  calm  difference  of  opinion  with  treason  ;  and  that 
still  evinces  its  unrelieved  tyranny,  by  punishing 
with  death  an  exercise  of  that  intelligence,  which 
alone  raises  man  above  the  abject  brute. 

But  our  anchor  is  weighed,  and  I  must  leave 
this  land  of  peril  and  sorrow.  Adieu  sweet  Cintra ! 
thou  art  a  green  oasis  in  the  desert  of  thy  realm. 
Farewell  thou  noble  Tagus !  would  that  those 
who  dwell  on  thy  fresh  banks  were  more  worthy  of 
thy  golden  tribute  :  and  Madam  Julia  !  farewell  to 
thee  ! — the  tears  are  in  my  eyes  ! — farewell ! 

Cherish  thy  parrot ;  and  declare  to  all, 
That  this  serene,  exquisite  bird  was  given 
Before  the  dismal  discords  of  the  Fall, 
To  bring  to  earth  the  dialect  of  heaven ; 
The  very  bird,  from  whose  celestial  stammer, 
Our  mother  Eve  first  learnt  the  Hebrew  Grammar. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Passage  from  Lisbon  to  Gibralter — Diversions  of  the  Sailor — His 
tact  at  telling  Stories— Love  of  the  Song—Fondness  for  Dan 
cing — Unhappy  Propensities — Duty  of  the  Government  towards 
him. 

WE  are  again  at  sea,  with  our  canvas  set  to  a 
fresh,  fair  breeze,  that  promises  to  take  us  to  our 
destined  port.  The  evening  has  come  in  bland  and 
beautiful ;  the  sky,  nature's  great  dome,  is  yet  unlit 
by  the  softer  stars,  but  the  light  of  the  departed  sun 
still  lingers  on  the  cloud,  fringing  it  with  golden 
fire.  Such  an  evening  as  this  more  than  reconciles 
one  to  the  strange,  adventurous  life  of  the  sailor ; 
yet  it  brings  with  it,  like  the  tones  of  recollected 
music,  all  the  sacred  endearments  of  home.  The 
ocean-traveler  thinks  if  only  that  one  Being,  who 
dwells  so  brightly  in  his  memory,  could  be  near  him — • 
could  look  at  the  same  sunset,  sky,  and  stars — it 
would  be  all  he  could  ask — he  should  be  happy ; 
and  perhaps  he  would,  foi  their  hearts  would,  im 
perceptibly  become  harmonized  to  the  same  tone  of 
pensive  sentiment,  till  like  the  mingling  note  of  two 
lutes  in  perfect  unison,  their  spirits  would  become 
one,  and  the  current  of  their  thoughts  would  glide 
13* 


150  STORIES    OF    THE    SAILOR. 

away  as  from  the  same  fresh  fount.  In  the  soli 
tude  of  their  situation,  they  would  cling  to  each 
other,  as  all  that  this  poor  world  contains,  nor 
dream  that  either  could  survive  a  dissolution  of  this 
concentrated  life.  An  hour  of  such  confiding 
attachment  as  this,  is  worth  years  of  that  heartless 
intimacy,  which  obtains  in  the  circles  of  the  gay. 

Such  an  evening  as  this,  with  its  steady  breeze, 
is  a  pastime  to  the  roving  sailor.  He  has  no  sails  to 
reef,  no  yards  to  trim,  and  sits  himself  quietly  down, 
while  one  of  his  companions,  blessed  with  a  more 
fertile  imagination,  spins  a  long  yarn.  These  sto 
ries  partake  vastly  more  of  fiction  than  fact,  and  are 
often,  I  have  no  doubt,  the  mere  creations  of  the 
individual.  They  do  not  very  nicely  preserve  the 
unities,  but  these  are  forgotten  in  a  succession  of 
marvelous,  ludicrous,  and  tragical  incidents.  One 
of  them  will  frequently  be  extended  through  several 
nights,  and  apparently  increase  in  interest  with  its 
length.  I  have  just  heard  one  resumed  for  the 
fourth  night,  and  how  much  longer  it  will  be  con 
tinued,  no  one  can  conjecture.  The  circle  seated 
themselves  in  their  wonted  place  on  deck ;  a  silence 
ensued : — "  And  where  did  I  knock  off?"  inquired 
the  teller.  "  Just  where  the  gale  struck  the  ship 
and  she  was  thrown  on  her  beam's  end,"  answered 
one  of  the  listeners.  "  No,  it  was  where  she  split 
on  the  rock,  just  as  she  was  making  a  snug  harbor," 
replied  another.  "  That  was  not  the  spot  neither," 


STORIES    OP    THE    SAILOR.  151 

interrupted  a  third, — "it  was  where  that  strong 
swimmer,  with  a  shark  at  his  heel,  made  his  way 
through  breakers  to  the  shore,  and  then  dropped  on 
the  sand,  with  his  strength  all  spent :  don't  you 
remember  the  beautiful  girl,  who  came  down  to  the 
beach,  and  held  his  head  on  her  knee,  when  her 
blessed  tears  dropped  on  his  cheek  ?"  "  Oh  !  that 
was  the  spot,"  exclaimed  the  story-teller,  "  and  a 
sweeter  creature  never  lived ;  she  knew  nothing 
about  that  man,  only  that  he  had  been  wrecked, — 
for  she  was  standing  on  a  cliff,  when  she  saw  the 
ship  strike  the  rock,  and  go  down, — yet  soon  as  he 
reached  the  beach,  and  was  trying  to  get  further 
from  the  waveband  kept  fainting  and  falling,  till  he 
couldn't  rise  any  more,  she  came  at  once  to  him,  sat 
directly  down,  and  raised  his  head  on  her  knee,  and 
then — bless  her  sweet  heart ! — wrung  all  the  salt 
water  out  of  his  hair,  and  watched  his  face  like  a 
sister,  to  see  if  he  would  breathe  again.  Oh !  fel 
lows, — there  is  something  in  a  woman  you  never 
meet  with  in  a  man.  She  never  waits  to  be  paid 
for  her  pity, — it  comes  at  once  bubbling  right  up 
out  of  her  heart.  This  girl  knew  the  man  had 
nothing  to  give  her  for  her  kindness,  for  his  land- 
tacks  had  all  been  wrecked  with  the  ship ;  she  saw 
he  was  young,  and  handsome  too,  if  he  hadn't  been 
so  pale ;  but  it  wasn't  that,  that  made  her  come  to 
him." — Here  I  was  called  away ;  the  story,  however, 


152  SONG    OP    THE    SAILOR. 

was  continued,  but  of  the  end  I  know  as  little  as  the 
reader. 

The  song  is  another  evening  amusement  among 
our  sailors,  when  the  breeze  is  steady  and  the  sea 
smooth.  They  gather  forward,  before  the  call  of 
the  first  watch,  in  a  large  group,  when  some  one 
more  favored  than  the  rest  in  melody  of  voice,  is 
called  upon  for  a  song.  With  little  ado,  save  ad 
justing  his  tarpaulin,  and  dispensing  with  his  quid, 
he  strikes  up, — it  may  be  the  Defeat  of  Burgoyne, 
the  Battle  of  Plattsburg,  the  Star-spangled  Banner, 
the  Cherub  that  sits  up  Aloft,  or  Black-eyed  Susan. 
— but  whatever  be  his  choice,  or  the  selection  of  his 
comrades,  he  sings  it  with  a  genuyie  earnestness, 
and  downright  honesty  of  heart.  The  music,  be  the 
words  what  they  may,  has  generally  a  touch  of  the 
melancholy,  and  might  be  classed,  without  any  vio 
lence,  among  those  airs,  to  which  the  good  Whit- 
field  alluded,  when  he  determined  that  the  devil 
should  not  run  away  with  all  the  fine  tunes.  There 
was  one  among  our  crew,  whose  powers  in  the 
musical  line  were  first  rate  ;  we  often  called  upon 
him  for  a  song.  His  favorite  was  Black-eyed  Su 
san  ;  and  he  sung  it  with  a  fidelity  to  the  sentiment 
that  reached  the  very  heart.  The  national  airs  of 
the  sailor  ever  breathe  of  battle,  and  burn  with 
patriotism ;  they  are  intensely  kindled  with  senti 
ments,  that  flash  through  all  the  depths  of  his  soul. 


DANCING    OF    THE    SAILOR.  153 

Should  the  watch-fires  of  freedom  ever  be  extinguish 
ed  on  our  cliffs,  there  will  still  be  embers  in  the  breast 
of  the  sailor,  at  which,  liberty  exiled  from  the  land, 
may  light  her  torch. 

Another  amusement  with  the  sailor,  in  the  still 
evening  at  sea,  no  less  than  among  the  diversions 
of  the  shore,  is  dancing.  This  elegant  accomplish 
ment,  as  it  is  generally  termed,  belongs,  I  think,  of 
right  to  him  ;  for,  without  the  least  instructions, 
without  having  ever  been  taught  a  single  figure,  or 
step,  or  even  told  that  he  must  turn  out  his  toes,  he 
goes  ahead,  and  keeps  time  with  a  precision  and 
emphasis  of  motion,  seldom  met  with  in  the  saloon. 
There  are  with  him  no  studied  bows,  no  mincing 
airs,  no  simpering  looks,  no  glances  at  one's  own 
white  glove,  and  light,  elastic  pump,  no  rivalries, 
and  jealousies,  significant  nods,  nor  quarrels  about 
position,  nor  even  about  partners ;  for  if  Lucy  is 
engaged,  Mary  is  not,  and  that  is  enough  for  him. 
He  unships  his  tarpaulin,  dashes  into  the  ranks 
and  bounds  to  the  music  with  an  exulting  life  and 
heart.  Nor  is  the  presence  of  the  other  sex,  however, 
desirable,  indispensable  to  him  in  this  frequent  pas 
time  ;  for,  on  the  deck  of  his  ship,  and  far  away  at 
sea,  where  women  may  have  never  been,  if  a  lip  or 
lute,  or  string  make  the  music,  he  is  ever  ready  to 
move  to  it  with  his  quick  step  and  vigorous  limb ; 
and  he  may  sometimes  be  seen,  when  the  winds  are 
frolicking  and  piping  through  his  shrouds,  keeping 


154  HABITS    OF    THE    SAILOR. 

fantastic  time  to  their  wild  notes.  Alas,  those 
notes !  they  are  too  often  the  pleasing,  deceptive 
precursors  of  a  gale,  that  is  on  its  way  to  wreck 
that  ship, — to  sink  it  there  with  all  its  happy  hearts, 
and  leave  over  the  spot  where  it  went  down,  only 
the  dirge  of  the  passing  wave  ! 

Our  life  is  but  a  tale,  a  dance,  a  song, 

A  little  wave  that  frets  and  ripples  by ; 
Our  hopes  the  bubbles  which  it  bears  along, 

Born  with  a  breath,  and  broken  with  a  sigh. 
Then  fix,  my  heart !  thy  trust  in  faith  sublime 
Above  the  storms  and  tempest- wrecks  of  time  ! 

Would  that  the  diversions  and  excitements  of  the 
sailor,  never  carried  him  more  widely  on  the  moral 
compass,  from  his  true  course  than  he  is  borne,  when 
yielding  to  the  vein  of  a  song,  or  making  the  part  of 
his  story.  But  he  is  so  entirely  the  creature  of  im 
pulse  and  momentary  feeling,  that  he  frequently 
finds  himself  so  far  out  of  his  reckoning,  that  it 
costs  him  many  troublesome  tacks,  and  the  most 
painfully  close  sailing,  to  enable  him  to  bring  up  the 
leeway.  No  one  thing  contributes  more  to  this  dis 
astrous  departure,  than  the  stimulating  bowl.  This 
is  his  darling  sin — his  prevailing  temper — his  flat 
tering,  false  friend — his  associate  in  joy,  his  refuge 
in  grief — and  the  prime  source  of  all  the  errors  and 
evils  that  befall  him.  Will  it  be  credited  hereafter? 
that  the  government ! — the  kind,  paternal  govern 
ment  which  he  serves,  presents  this  poisoned  chalice 
to  his  lips  ?  Yet  this  is  the  fact !— a  fact  that  will 


HABITS    OF    THE    SAILOR.  155 

fill  those  who  may  write  the  history  of  these  times 
with  incredulity  and  amazement ! 

The  evils  to  the  sailor,  of  which  this  vicious  in 
dulgence  is  the  source,  are  of  the  most  affecting  cha 
racter.  There  is  not  a  wave  or  shore,  where  our 
canvas  has  been  spread,  that  is  not  darkened  with 
the  graves  of  our  mariners.  There  is  not  a  circle 
from  which  these  bold  hearts  have  gone,  that  has 
not  been  filled  with  mourning  for  those  who  are  to 
return  no  more.  Could  the  wave  that  has  been  the 
winding  sheet  of  the  sailor  speak — could  the  lonely 
shore  reveal  the  secrets  of  its  frequent  mounds,  there 
would  be  voices  on  the  ocean,  and  bones  on  its 
strand,  to  tell  a  tale  of  death,  more  wild  and  dark, 
than  any  that  ever  yet  knelled  its  terrors  through 
the  most  tragic  dream  !  It  is  not  the  tempest,  cast 
ing  the  proud  ship  a  naked  hulk  on  the  deep,  nor 
the  rock,  strown  with  the  fragments  of  its  perished 
strength,  that  has  wrought  this  scene  of  desolation, 
and  filled  so  many  hearts  with  unavailing  sorrow. 
It  is  that  cup  of  insidious  poison,  mingled  and  mix 
ed — and  still  placed  to  his  lips  by  the  government ! — 
Yes  by  the  government ! 

Nor  were  those,  who  had  a  short  time  since  the 
humanity  to  propose,  in  our  national  legislature,  a 
discountenance  of  this  criminal  conduct,  able  to 
shield  themselves  even  from  an  insulting  levity. 
The  senseless  jest  reached  them,  entrenched,  as  they 
were,  behind  this  appalling  mass  of  misery  and 


156  MEMBERS    OF   CONGRESS. 

death!  Numbers,  with  whose  names  I  will  not 
dishonor  this  page,  cast  upon  the  earnest,  impas 
sioned  appeal,  the  mocking  of  their  sneers  !  Such 
men  might  consistently  trifle  with  the  despair  of 
the  dying,  and  sport  among  the  bones  of  their  an 
cestral  dead  !  They  are  a  burlesque  upon  the  solem 
nities  of  the  legislative  hall!  They  are  as  unfit  to 
lay  their  hands  upon  the  ark  of  power,  as  a  buffoon 
to  administer  incense  upon  the  altars  of  the  sanc 
tuary. 

But  I  forbear.  Let  the  invective  light  only  on  the 
guilty.  It  is  the  imperative  duty  of  those,  who  hold 
the  restraints  of  national  law  in  their  hands,  to 
legislate  on  this  subject, — to  withdraw  the  counte 
nance  and  sanction  which  they  have  given, — to  dash 
to  the  earth  the  fatal  cup  which  they  are  holding  to 
the  lips  of  the  sailor, — arid  to  cut  up,  root  and  branch, 
this  deep  evil  in  the  naval  service.  If  by  any 
strange  perversity  or  recklessness  of  heart  they  fail 
to  do  this,  they  betray  the  trusts  confided  to  them, — 
they  betray  the  interests  of  the  navy,  the  interests  of 
the  country,  the  great  cause  of  humanity  ;  and  the 
blood  of  thousands  will  be  found  in  their  skirts,  in 
that  day,  when  men  shall  give  to  God  an  account  of 
their  deeds. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Gibralter — A  befitting  emblem  of  British  Power — Romance  of  its 
History—  Fortifications — Troops— Motley  Population — Summit  of 
the  Rock— St.  Michel's  Cave— The  Five  Hundred— Monboddo's 
Originals — Pleasure  Party— Music  and  a  Mermaid. 

As  we  floated  around  the  rock  of  Gibralter,  to 
our  quiet  anchorage,  this  morning,  I  found  my 
anticipations  of  its  formidable  strength,  and  lofty, 
uncompromising  look,  fully  realized.  It  rises 
bold  and  majestic,  some  fourteen  hundred  feet 
above  the  wave,  and  seems  to  cast  its  stupendous 
scorn  upon  the  menacing  violence  of  the  two 
oceans,  that  rave  at  its  base.  These  oceans  may 
roll  on,  and  cast  against  it,  through  ages,  the  shocks 
of  their  undecaying  power,  but  it  will  still  stand  firm, 
undaunted,  and  unshaken.  The  unbarred  convul 
sions  of  the  final  day,  will  indeed  heave  it  from  its 
foundations,  but  with  it  will  fall  the  pillars,  which 
support  the  vast  fabric  of  nature. 

This  towering  and  unshaken  Rock  is  a  proud  and 
befitting  representative  of  the  moral  and  political 
power  of  the  sea-girt  isle  ;  and  so  long  as  that 
power  is  wielded  with  the  dignity,  moderation,  and 
benign  effects,  which  now  characterize  it,  I  trust  it 
14 


158 


FORTIFICATIONS. 


will  prove  as  indestructible  as  this  mountain  mass. 
It  is  filled  with  a  central  energy,  which  binds  to 
itself  the  confidence  of  all  nations,  that  revere  vir 
tue,  and  respect  the  sacred  rights  of  man.  Were 
this  empire  to  sink  from  its  present  commanding  ele 
vation,  there  is  no  community  that  would  not  feel 
the  shock,  and  no  good  man  who  would  not 
weep  over  the  ruin.  God  grant,  that  in  my  last 
vision  of  mortal  realities,  I  may  see  the  unimpaired 
power  of  this  noble  realm  blended  harmoniously 
with  the  spreading  influence  of  my  own  country, 
penetrating  every  clime,  and  pervading  all  lands. 

The  lofty  look  of  defiance,  which  nature  has 
stamped  on  this  rock,  has  been  rendered  still  more 
formidable  and  threatening  by  the  work  of  man. 
As  you  turn  your  eye  to  it,  you  are  met  below  by 
a  sweeping  series  of  batteries,  bristling  with  their 
engines  of  destruction.  As  you  raise  your  eye 
higher  up.  you  discover  the  fearful  embrasures  of 
long  connected  ranges  of  ordnance,  ready  at  a 
breath  to  convert  the  stupendous  pile  into  a  blaze  of 
terrific  thunder.  A  thousand  hostile  fleets,  even 
before  they  had  time  to  display  their  impotent 
strength,  would  sink  here,  like  the  bubbles  that 
break  around  their  chaffing  keels.  If  this  impreg 
nable  citadel  ever  passes  from  the  possession  of 
Great  Britain,  it  will  not  be  by  force.  The  giant 
of  Gaza  was  despoiled  of  his  strength,  by  strata 
gem,— and  in  this  form,  if  ever,  will  England  be 


HISTORY.  159 

deprived  of  her  Gibralter.  But  Britannia  is  too  wake 
ful,  too  full  of  caution,  to  lay  her  head  on  the  seduc 
tive  lap  of  any  Delilah. 

The  history  of  this  mountain  fortress,  is  in 
keeping  with  its  native  wildness  and  singularity. 
The  ancients,  ever  fond  of  connecting  the  origin  of 
the  most  striking  objects  in  nature,  with  the  virtues 
of  some  of  their  fabled  heroes,  ascribed  the  existence 
of  this  rock  to  the  might  of  their  Hercules.  There 
was  something  in  its  solitary  grandeur,  its  fearless, 
self-relying  aspect,  and  the  depth  and  darkness  of 
its  caverned  womb,  that  roused  their  imagination; 
and  they  cast  over  it  the  mysteries  of  a  deathless 
romance.  This  dream  of  wonder  and  worship, 
came  down  with  a  dim  and  thrilling  interest  upon 
later  times  ;  and  whenever  a  prince  wished  to  dis 
tinguish  himself,  in  some  perilous,  romantic  enter 
prise,  he  seems  to  have  laid  siege  to  this  rock. 
Thus,  for  ages,  the  gallant  and  brave  of  all  nations 
appear  to  have  regarded  its  possession,  as  a  sort  of 
triumph,  that  could  set  the  highest  and  brightest 
seal  upon  their  adventurous  valor.  At  length  Bri 
tannia,  in  one  of  her  wandering  excursions  over  the 
ocean,  being  struck  with  the  wildness  and  strength  of 
its  bold  features,  determined  to  possess  it,  as  a  sort 
of  gorgeous  and  solemn  out-post  to  her  spreading 
power.  She  challenged  its  proud  occupants  to  mortal 
combat,  and  won  it,  and  gave  her  banner  to  the 
breeze,  upon  its  highest  peak.  The  beleaguering 


160  DWELLINGS. 

strength  of  nations  has  since  been  exhausted  to  pull 
that  banner  down  ;  but  it  still  waves  on,  pointing  in 
triumph  and  pride  to  the  sea-girt  isle. 

Every  part  of  Gibralter,  even  that  which  has 
been  most  affected  by  the  subduing  power  of  human 
ingenuity,  has  still  upon  it  a  cast  of  the  romantic. 
The  town  itself  is  reared  upon  parapets  cast  against 
its  less  precipitous  side,  and  scarcely  furnishes 
room  for  one  jostling  street ;  while  higher  up,  as  if 
half  suspended  in  air,  hundreds  of  toppling  habita 
tions  may  be  seen  fastened  to  the  face  of  the  rock. 
Thus  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dwell,  looking 
down  upon  the  roof  of  their  nearest  neighbor,  in 
a  series  so  steep,  that  even  the  shrub  in  its  fear  of 
falling,  strikes  its  roots  with  an  unwonted  pertina 
city.  Where  the  side  becomes  too  nearly  perpen 
dicular  to  admit  the  construction  of  a  support  for  the 
artillery,  the  rock  has  been  entered,  and  long  tiers 
of  galleries  cut  in  its  solid  recesses.  The  heavy 
guns,  as  if  they  might  be  rendered  giddy  by  their 
elevation,  scarcely  look  from  their  dark  ports, 
except  when  an  enemy  may  heave  in  sight,  and 
then  they  will  speak  to  him,  in  a  voice,  which  the 
timid  never  mistake,  and  even  the  fearless  can  never 
withstand. 

There  is  also  something  strikingly  picturesque 
in  the  varied  aspect  of  the  population  :  almost  every 
nation  is  here  appropriately  represented.  Here  is 
the  Briton,  in  the  substantial  pomp  and  circun> 


POPULATION.  161 

stance  of  office; — the  mercenary  soldier,  who  per 
haps  never  knew  his  parentage,  or  knew  it  only  to 
run  away  from  it,  going  through  his  evolutions 
with  a  crankness  and  precision,  which  mocks  the 
automatons  of  Maelzel  ; — the  stout  Moor,  with  his 
broad  benevolent  face,  and  his  turban  still  true  to  the 
prophet; — the  bearded  Jew,  peddling  his  false  jewels, 
and  expecting  the  day  of  his  deliverance ; — the  Greek, 
with  his  restless  air,  and  the  cunning  of  his  ever  flash 
ing  eye ; — the  Italian,  living  upon  a  crust  of  bread,  and 
drawing  from  every  instrument  you  may  name,  the 
tones  of  its  slumbering  melody ; — the  Frenchman,  po 
lite  in  his  last  shirt, and  whistling  over  his  misfortunes; 
— the  German,  silently  and  snugly  amassing  a  for 
tune  for  some  unborn  nephew; — the  Irishman,  drink 
ing  his  last  penny  in  a  health  to  the  Emerald  Isle, 
and  vowing  by  St.  Patrick,  that  it  is  the  sweetest  conti 
nent  in  the  world  ; — and  the  Spaniard,  with  his  dark, 
piercing  eye,  his  sinewy  limbs  and  trusty  blade, 
ready  for  any  enterprise,  that  the  gallows  and  grave 
have  attempted  to  obstruct. 

These  are  only  a  few  of  the  more  prominent 
figures  in  the  picture ;  more  retired  are  groups, 
where  one  might  speculate  for  years.  Indeed,  if  I 
wished  to  take  to  a  distant  planet  a  just  specimen  of 
this  world,  in  the  most  condensed  form,  and  had  the 
Herculean  power  requisite,  I  would  carry  off  Gibral- 
ter.  I  should  find  in  my  gregarious  wallet,  some 
of  the  best  and  worst  specimens  of  human  nature, 
14* 


162  PROFESSIONS. 

with  most  of  the  intermediate  links.  All  religions, 
trades,  professions,  and  pursuits  are  tolerated,  and 
thrive  here.  There  is  no  pope,  it  is  true,  but  the 
mass  is  said  and  sung  with  an  emphasis  ;— there  is 
no  high  vicar  of  the  prophet,  but  the  Koran  is 
read,  and  the  houried  paradise  anticipated  ;— there 
is  no  sanhedrim,  but  the  chant  of  the  synagogue  is 
heard,  and  the  promised  Messiah  still  expected  ; — 
there  is  no  lecturing  Esculapius,  but  the  doctors 
nevertheless  learn  how  to  cure,  or  kill ; — there  are 
no  tread-mills  or  entailed  estates,  but  the  lawyers 
still  find  fees ; — there  is  no  water-fall,  but  the  fabric 
still  goes  on,  under  human  hands ; — there  is  no 
arable  earth,  but  the  delicious  plant  is  still  reared 
into  maturity  ; — there  is  no  protection  for  commerce, 
but  the  din  of  a  bustling  mart  is  incessant  on  the 
ear ; — there  is  no  court,  but  the  trappings  of  nobility 
are  constantly  flashing  on  the  eye; — there  is  no 
Draco  with  his  bloody  code,  but  the  bailiff  gets  his 
fee,  and  the  hangman  is  fed  ! 

The  large  and  well  selected  library  of  the  gar 
rison,  in  its  elegant,  commodious  building,  with  its 
reading-room  supplied  with  periodicals  from  the 
different  quarters  of  the  world,  was  a  retreat  from 
which  I  reluctantly  forced  myself  away.  A  stran 
ger,  who  expects  to  spend  any  time  here,  should  by 
all  means  get  introduced  to  the  library.  Another 
object  of  interest  here,  at  least  as  long  as  its  novelty 
lasts,  is  the  beautiful  parade  ground,  retired  a  little 


MOUNTED    GALLERIES.  163 

• 

to  the  south  of  the  bustling  town.     You  may  here 
listen  to   the  music  of  a  powerful,  military  band ; 
or  witness  in  the  exact  and  simultaneous  motions  of 
the  troops,  how  entirely  a  creature  of  system  and 
position  an  English  soldier  is  ;  or  you  may  see  the 
dark  Genoese  darting  by,  and  only  casting  a  furtive 
glance,  to  see  how  her  man  of  the  red  coat  shows 
on  parade.     Near  by,  you  will  find  many  snug  cot 
tages,  picturesquely  cast  into  the  airy  nooks  of  the 
rock,  shaded  by  the  spreading  fig-tree,  or  the  more 
majestic  palm,  or  the  ambitious  vine  dropping  its 
festoons   around    the    slight  corridor;    while  the 
varied  flowers  of    many  climes  cast  up  from  the 
small  parterre  the  perfume  of  their  mingled  sweets. 
Another  excursion  of  interest,  is  to  the  excava 
tions.      We    were   taken    through    these    by  Mr. 
Henry,  our  late  consul  at  this  place,  a  gentleman  of 
polite  bearing  and  extensive  information.     The  gal 
leries   were  sufficiently  high  for  Mrs.  R.  to  ride 
through  their  whole  extent,  without  once  dismount 
ing  her  donkey.     They  are  cut  at  some  depth  from 
the  face  of  the  rock ;  their  gloom  and  darkness  is 
relieved  only  by  the  light  which  struggles  past  the 
muzzle  of  the  guns,  as  they  look  out  menacing  the 
world  below  with  the  heavy  metal,  which  lies  hugely 
piled  around  them.     Looking  from  these  lofty  gal 
leries,  you  feel  perfectly  secure  from  the  utmost  vio 
lence  of  a  besieging  enemy — which  to  me  would 
be  not  at  all  disagreeable — and  at  the  same  time,  you 


164  TOP    OF    THE    ROCK. 

feel  that  every  thing  beneath  you  is  at  your  mercy. 
If  it  be  a  fleet,  you  see  that  you  can  send  the  plung 
ing  ball  through  the  deck,  while  not  a  shot  can 
mount  to  your  position ;  or  if  it  be  a  breast-work, 
you  can  strike  it  as  the  eagle  in  his  rushing  swoop, 
strikes  his  prey  on  the  exposed  plain.  These  exca 
vations  are  a  perpetual  monument  of  the  enterprise 
and  hardihood  of  the  English. 

From  these  central  regions  we  ascended  a  spiral 
stairway  to  the  top  of  the  Rock,  and  from  thence 
on  to  the  signal  tower,  upon  its  highest  summit. 
Here  a  corps  of  observation  is  stationed,  who  com 
municate  the  arrival  of  ships  in  the  straits  ;  and  who 
announce  from  a  small  battery,  ihe  rising  and  setting 
of  the  sun.  From  this  elevation  your  prospect  is  emi 
nently  commanding  ;  you  see  Africa  stretching  away 
with  a  gloomy  aspect,  that  well  comports  with  her  his 
tory  of  strife  and  disaster.  On  the  other  hand,  you  dis 
cover  the  nearer  coast  of  Spain,  sending  the  glad 
tribute  of  its  waters  to  the  sea,  and  the  wild  ranges 
of  its  more  distant  mountains,  heaving  into  the  blue 
sky  the  glittering  pinnacles  of  their  eternal  ice.  Far 
over  the  intervening  land,  rolls  the  broad  Atlantic ; 
while  less  remote,  lies  the  Mediterranean,  in  all  the 
brightness  and  beauty  of  that  hour,  when  the  morn 
ing  stars  first  sang  together  over  its  unveiled  face. 

From  this  position,  we  wandered  to  St.  Mi 
chel's  cave,  whose  winding  depths  lead  down 
among  the  foundations  of  the  rock.  You  enter  by 


THE    FIVE    HUNDRED.  165 

a  small  aperture,  half  concealed  by  shrubs,  and 
which  really  promises  but  little  in  compensation  for 
your  pains.  But  when  you  have  got  fairly  within, 
and  see  the  outline  of  objects,  dimly  revealed  in  the 
light  that  strays  through  the  narrow  opening, — the 
stellactics,  descending  in  columned  beauty  from  the 
fretted  vault  to  the  well-formed  pedestal, — the  arch, 
sweeping  from  pillar  to  pillar,  with  architectural 
symmetry  and  precision, — the  dark  portals  of  other 
caverns  leading  down  to  regions  unknown, — you 
are  as  much  surprised  at  the  inward  as  outward 
structure  of  this  singular  mass. 

It  was  here  that  the  devoted  five  hundred  con 
cealed  themselves,  through  a  long  anxious  day,  till 
the  shadows  of  night  again  concealed  their  invading 
movements  from  the  enemy.  They  had  vowed 
never  to  return,  till  they  had  won  back  this  Rock  to 
the  Spanish  crown.  They  had  taken  the  sacra 
ment — been  shrived  by  their  priest,  and  were  thus 
doubly  armed — not  having  before  them  the  fear  of 
this  world,  or  the  next.  They  succeeded  during 
the  first  night,  in  climbing  to  this  cave,  where  they 
remained  undiscovered  through  the  succeeding  day. 
Upon  the  following  night,  they  drew  up  by  the  help 
of  rope-ladders,  other  bold  companions  to  their  aid, 
and  were  now  ready  for  the  decisive  blow.  But  a 
trifling  misunderstanding  occurring  at  this  critical 
moment,  they  were  discovered, — attacked  by  a  pow 
erful  detachment  from  the  garrison, — driven  over 


166  HUMAN    ORIGINALS. 

the  precipice,  or  slain  on  the  spot — battling  it  to  the 
last  breath.  I  could  not  but  feel,  as  I  stood  on  that 
spot,  an  indescribable  sentiment  of  sympathy,  for  the 
disastrous  fate  of  those  gallant  men.  The  question 
of  their  success,  or  failure,  appears  to  have  been  sus 
pended  upon  a  hair.  But  valor  in  this  world  seems 
to  be  destined  to  an  early  grave,  while  skulking 
cowardice  lives  out  its  lengthened  life  of  shame. 

Monkeys  in  considerable  numbers,  at  certain 
seasons  of  the  year,  make  their  appearance  among 
the  heights  above.  They  come,  as  report  says,  from 
the  African  shore,  under  the  rushing  straits,  in  a 
tunnel, — probably  less  magnificent  than  that  beneath 
the  Thames — and  reaching  some  of  these  lowest 
caverns,  mount  through  them  to  the  upper  regions 
of  light.  They  manifest  such  a  degree  of  sagacity 
and  cunning,  that  I  should  advise  any  one,  who 
thinks  of  adopting  Monboddo's  theory  of  man's  ori 
ginal  formation,  to  come  here  and  strengthen  his 
incipient  convictions. 

These  gentlemen  of  the  tail,  are  sometimes  pur 
sued,  by  some  of  their  two-legged  neighbors  ;  and 
on  such  occasions,  when  hard  pushed,  they  are  prone 
to  turn  a  quick,  short  corner,  upon  the  giddy  verge 
of  the  rock,  and  let  their  eager  pursuer,  who  is  una 
ble,  in  like  manner,  to  arrest  his  momentum,  plunge 
off  the  fatal  steep.  Though  this  is  not  exactly  destroy 
ing  an  adversary,  by  giving  him  battle,  yet  it  is  kill 
ing  him  in  a  much  handsomer  way.  I  recommend 


PLEASURE   PARTY.  167 

also,  all  molesters  of  society,  to  come  hero  and  learn 
how  easy  it  is,  even  for  a  monkey  to  out-wit  a  dis 
turber  of  the  public  peace.  Say  what  we  will,  the 
monkey  has  many  of  the  traits  which  belong  to  a 
modern-cut  gentleman.  He  carries,  it  is  true,  no 
quizzing  glass  ;  but  then  he  keeps  looking  and  wink 
ing  and  staring,  just  as  he  would,  were  he  using 
that  elegant,  ocular  aid.  His  tail,  to  be  sure,  is 
rather  an  embarrassment ;  but  this  is  no  fault  of 
his;  and  I  always  feel,  when  surveying  his  person, 
a  pitying  regret  that  nature  should  have  thought  it 
necessary  to  afflict  him  with  this  most  singular,  and 
wholly  superfluous  appendage  ! 

On  the  day  of  our  departure  from  Gibralter,  we 
were  favored  with  the  company  of  an  engaging 
party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  came  on  board, 
at  the  invitation  of  Capt.  and  Mrs.  Read,  with  whom 
they  dined.  In  the  course  of  the  day,  we  sailed 
across  the  bay  to  Algeziras,  where  we  obtained  a 
clean  bill  of  health  from  its  kind  governor,  for  the 
purpose  of  evading  the  quarantine  laws  of  Malaga. 
There  is  a  sort  of  family  understanding  here,  that  a 
ship  passing  from  one  port  to  another  of  the  same 
nation,  shall  be  exempted  from  all  lazaretto  embar 
rassments.  It  was  an  amiable  act  in  the  governor, 
and  I  wish  it  were  in  our  power  to  return  it.  The 
company  appeared  in  excellent  spirits,  and  the  occa 
sion  passed  off  with  unusual  animation.  Mr.  Page, 
our  present  consul,  and  his  lady,  to  our  regret  were 


168  DEPARTURE. 

absent ; — their  society  would  have  imparted  an 
additional  interest.  But  we  could  scarcely  grieve 
over  the  absence  of  the  best  of  friends,  while  listen 
ing  to  the  music  of  a  Spanish  lady,  who  composed 
one  of  the  company.  Her  deep  and  elastic  voice, 
full  of  sweetness  and  energy,  passed  through  the 
wide  compass  of  its  powers,  with  a  thrilling  force. 
In  its  lowest  tones,  it  had  a  singular  fulness  and 
strength  ;  and  yet  appeared  to  lose  none  of  its  ex 
pressive  melody,  even  in  that  light  and  vanishing 
strain,  in  which  the  music  seems  to  linger,  when  the 
lips  have  ceased  to  breathe.  Her  light  and  easy  hand 
would  now  just  touch  the  strings,  that  answered  in 
soft  unison ;  and  now  sweep  them,  as  if  calling  up 
their  harmonies  from  some  profound  slumber.  I 
could  have  listened  till  another  sun  had  risen  ;  but 
the  one  now  setting,  compelled  our  friends  to  think 
of  the  shore ; — and  so  we  parted — they  to  their  cheer 
ful  homes — we  to  the  winds  and  waves  of  the  Medi 
terranean. 

Whether  it  may  be  ascribed  to  that  apprehen 
sion  of  disaster,  which  we  ever  experience  on  parting 
with  friends,  or  to  the  tragical  cast  of  the  music,  to 
which  we  had  been  listening,  I  know  not,  but — 

That  night  I  dreamed,  while  in  my  hammoc  swinging, 

Our  snip  had  suddenly  become  a  wreck ; 
The  booming  wave  was  in  my  dull  ear  ringing, 

As  I  went  downward  from  the  parted  deck ; 
While  far  above  the  hoarsely  sounding  surge, 
Was  murmuring  to  the  rocks  my  funeral  dirge. 


A    MERMAID.  169 

A  mermaid  gliding  from  her  coral-cave, 

And  bearing  in  her  hand  a  scallop-shell, 
Hovered  around  me  in  my  sea-green  grave, 

And  play'd  the  air,  on  earth  I  liked  so  well. 
It  is  an  air  which  he  who  sings  or  hears, 
However  gay,  will  find  himself  in  tears. 

She  breathed  it  through  her  sweetly  sounding  shell ; 

And  as  she  reached  that  closing,  tragic  strain, 
Where  wildly  dies  away  Love's  last  farewell, 

So  long  did  her  reluctant  lips  retain 
The  parting  sound  in  their  melodious  breath, 
I  quite  forgot  the  agonies  of  death. 

And  there  I  lay  upon  my  watery  bier, 

Enchanted  by  this  minstrel  of  the  deep  : 
The  strain  had  ceased,  yet  still  she  hovered  near, 

And  seem'd,  as  with  a  sister's  gentle  love,  to  keep 
A  tender  vigil  o'er  the  troubled  slumbers, 
Which  she  had  soothed  with  her  celestial  numbers. 


15 


CHAPTER   XV. 

Malaga— Coming  to  Anchor — Cathedral — Tomb  of  Moliana — Fiddles 
and  Organs  in  Churches — Castle  of  the  Moors — Hours  of  a  Mala- 
guena — Traits  of  a  singular  Bandit — A  Spanish  Lady — Twilight 
and  the  Promenade — A  Funeral. 

WE  dropped  anchor  in  the  bay  of  Malaga,  at  a 
late  hour  last  night,  and  fully  experienced  that  illu 
sion  of  distance,  which  objects  discovered  at  sea, 
and  especially  by  star-light,  never  failed  to  create. 
I  would  have  ventured  any  thing  on  the  conjecture, 
that  we  were  not  more  than  a  good  cable's  length 
from  the  landing,  when,  as  it  afterwards  proved,  we 
were  over  a  league.  This  is  a  happy  provision  in 
nature,  for  otherwise  we  might,  under  a  quick  wind, 
a  rapid  sea,  and  perhaps  a  nodding  watch,  be  car 
ried  against  the  rock  before  we  had  time  to  haul 
our  wind,  where,  as  we  may  now  apparently  strike 
it  with  onr  jib-boom,  and  still  have  room  to  wear 
ship.  Those  who  are  prone  to  regard  the  imper 
fections  of  man  in  a  light,  that  impugns  the  divine 
benevolence,  may  here  find,  even  in  our  infirmities, 
the  means  of  our  safety. 

One  of  the  first  objects  to  which  we  directed  our 
steps  upon  reaching  the  shore,  was  the  cathedral — a 
magnificent,  stately  pile — towering  in  splendor  and 


TOMB    OF    MOLIANA.  171 

pride,  far  above  the  humble  habitations  around. 
The  style  of  its  architecture  is  a  mixture  of  the  Ro 
man  and  Gothic — a  union  which  has  here  been 
effected  upon  a  colossal  scale,  with  a  happy  and 
impressive  effect.  The  interior  presents  an  oblong 
spheroid,  with  a  double  row  of  Corinthian  pillars, 
rising  in  marble  richness  and  stability,  from  the 
centre  of  the  nave  to  the  dome,  which  sweeps  down 
in  well  turned  arches,  upon  the  lofty  entablatures. 
The  high  altar  and  pulpit,  are  of  fine  flesh-colored 
marble,  and  the  choir  of  (exquisite  workmanship. 
It  contains  about  fifty  stalls,  richly  wrought  in  ma 
hogany,  and  several  statues  of  saints,  by  celebra 
ted  artists. 

The  monument  of  the  late  bishop  Don  Jesse  de 
Moliana  is  well  conceived,  and  tastefully  executed. 
The  dying  prelate  is  represented  on  his  tomb,  in  an 
inclined  posture,  leaning  faintly  on  his  hand,  and 
looking  calmly  up,  with  that  serene  confidence, 
which  triumphs  over  the  terrors  of  death.  The 
meekness  and  fidelity  with  which  he  is  reported  to 
have  discharged  his  sacred  functions,  and  his  muni 
ficent  donations  to  this  church,  might  well  secure 
for  him  a  lasting  memorial.  Though  this  cathedral 
is  seldom  mentioned  by  travelers,  yet  it  is  well  wor 
thy  of  being  classed  among  the  marvels  of  modern 
architecture.  The  area  embraced  within  its  walls, 
is  four  hundred  feet  in  length,  by  two  hundred  and 
sixty  in  breadth,  with  a  hundred  and  forty  to  the 


172  ORGANS    IN   CHURCHES. 

height  of  its  arches — giving  it  dimensions,  approach 
ing  those  of  the  temple,  which  has  brought  so  many 
thousand  pilgrims  to  Rome. 

The  two  organs,  with  their  deep,  rich  tones, 
gave  an  air  of  solemnity  and  inspiration  to  the  place, 
more  impressive  than  the  spreading  incense  of  the 
altar,  the  majesty  of  the  pillared  dome,  or  the  hal 
lowing  twilight,  which  softly  bathed  each  object. 
While  listening  to  these  noble  instruments,  in  the 
sublime  part  they  bore  in  the  anthem,  I  could  not 
but  feel  a  mortifying  regret,  at  the  mistaken  hostility 
with  which  so  many  in  my  own  country,  regard 
these  moving  aids  to  the  devotions  of  the  sanctuary. 
In  some  of  our  churches,  even  a  sober  bass-viol  is 
not  tolerated,  and  a  wind  instrument  is  looked  upon 
as  the  very  hornpipe  of  the  devil.  I  do  not  suppose 
that  our  aspirations  will  be  very  much  deepened 
or  elevated  by  the  trills  of  a  reed,  or  the  quavers  of 
a  string.  But  this  is  no  reason  why  an  instrument, 
which  can  indeed  "  discourse  eloquent  music,"  and 
especially  the  organ,  with  its  solemnity  and  power, 
should  be  expelled  from  our  worship.  True,  it  has 
not  an  innate  sense  of  its  melodious  vocation,  nor  a 
soul  "of  conscious  penitence  or  praise  ;  nor  has  the 
human  voice  ;  yet  both  may  easily  aid  and  express, 
in  some  degree,  the  fervors  of  our  reverent  homage. 
David,  whose  inspired  harmonies  still  live  in  the 
church,  and  will,  while  there  is  a  grateful  penitent 
upon  earth,  celebrated  the  "loving  kindness  and 


CASTLE  OF  THE  MOORS.          173 

faithfulness"  of  his  benevolent  preserver,  "  upon  an 
instrument  of  ten  strings,  upon  the  psaltry  and 
upon  the  harp,  with  a  solemn  sound."  When  our 
sanctity  shall  exceed  his,  it  may  perhaps  be  an  addi 
tional  indication  of  piety  and  wisdom  to  dispense 
with  all  these  auxiliaries  in  our  religious  services. 

Our  next  object  of  curiosity  was  a  castle,  built 
by  the  Moors,  on  an  elevation,  from  which  it  subter- 
raneously  communicates  with  the  city,  and  com 
mands  the  harbor.  It  is  still  in  a  state  of  good  pre 
servation,  and  from  several  inscriptions  found  on 
the  blocks,  of  which  its  foundations  are  composed, 
evidently  occupies  the  site  of  a  Roman  temple,  and 
has  been  reared  to  some  extent  from  the  materials 
of  that  classic  edifice.  This  is  one  of  those  strong 
holds,  in  which  the  power  of  the  Moors  took  its  last 
stand ;  and  where  it  was  finally  compelled  to  sut- 
rerider  to  the  superior  force  of  Ferdinand.  The 
castle  is  now  useless  to  its  friends,  and  harmless  to 
its  enemies,  though  a  few  appendages  of  modern 
fortifications  might  easily  render  it  a  source  of  safety 
to  the  one,  and  terror  to  the  other.  But  Spain  ap 
pears  to  be  satisfied  with  her  past  achievements  ;  she 
is  now  impotent  at  a  thousand  points,  where  the 
least  energy  and  enterprise  might  render  her  invul 
nerable.  But  nations  like  individuals,  when  they 
have  begun  to  fall,  neglect  the  easiest  means  of  pre 
serving  their  tottering  dignity  and  influence.  The 
proud  throne  of  the  Ferdinands  now  exists,  only  by 
15* 


174  HOURS    OF    A    LADY. 

the  forbearance  of  many  a  power,  upon  which  it 
once  looked  down  in  contemptuous  scorn.  "How 
are  the  mighty  fallen,  and  the  weapons  of  war  per 
ished  !" 

In  our  rambles  about  Malaga  we  found  all  her 
streets  narrow,  but  many  of  them  preserving  a  de 
cent  regard  to  cleanliness.  Her  buildings  are  usu 
ally  of  two  stories,  with  balconies,  where  pots  of  de- 
Jicious  plants  and  flowers  cast  their  fragrance,  and 
where  sometimes  the  black-eyed  Malaguena  may  be 
seen  lingering  around  them  with  a  lightness  and 
gaity,  but  half  concealed  by  the  lattice  of  the  cool 
veranda.  There  she  sits  by  the  side  of  the  rose, 
which  is  not  more  fresh  and  fair  than  is  her  cheek, 
and  near  her  canary,  whose  musical  voice  is  never 
hushed,  save  when  her  own  is  heard,  and  passes  off 
lier  lightsome  hours,  in  casting  the  rich  figure  upon 
the  embroidered  veil,  or  touching  her  guitar,  to 
one  of  those  strains,  which  convert  the  dull  realities 
of  life  into  a  sweet  romance.  She  is  not  disturbed 
by  your  listening  ear ;  her  music  still  breathes  on,  like 
that  of  the  nightingale,  which  the  hushed  woodland 
catches,  and  returns,  in  mellow  echo.  How  differ 
ent  this  from  that  imrelaxed  gravity,  that  never 
smiles  when  it  is  pleased,  and  never  weeps  when  it 
is  sad!  Give  me  the  human  heart,  with  all  its  sus 
ceptibilities,  sympathies  and  emotions,  unchained 
and  unblighted,  and  then  diffuse  through  its  quick 
nature,  the  hallowing  and  harmonizing  influences 


TRAITS    OF    AN    OUTLAW.  175 

of  religion,  and  earth  has  not  an  object  of  more 
thrilling  interest  and  beauty, 

Malaga — though  it  embraces  a  population  of 
sixty  thousand,  and  in  commercial  importance,  is 
ranked  the  third  city  in  Spain,  yet  it  presents  no* 
many  objects  of  curious  interest  to  the  stranger. 
But,  what  it  wants  in  objects  which  usually  interest 
the  traveler,  it  seems  to  atone  for  in  the  bold,  ad 
venturous  character  of  the  outlaws  who,  occasion 
ally  disturb  the  peace  and  safety  of  its  borders. 
The  most  conspicuous  of  these  free-booters  is  Jose 
Maria,  whose  history  will  hereafter,  I  doubt  not, 
furnish  the  elements  of  some  absorbing  romance. 
He  considered  himself,  as  it  appears,  wronged  out 
of  that  political  position,  to  which  his  talents  and 
services  justly  entitled  him,  and  in  his  indignant 
mortification,  determined  to  punish  the  neglect  and 
ingratitude,  by  assuming  and  enforcing  an  attitude, 
that  might  set  the  prejudiced  decisions  and  partial 
laws  of  the  times  at  defiance.  He  collected  a  band 
of  faithful,  fearless  spirits,  and  proclaimed  himself 
general-in-chief  of  Granada,  and  king  of  the  roads. 
If  a  thorough  maintenance  of  assumed  authority 
can  establish  it  in  respect  and  approbation  of  man 
kind,  then  no  one  will  feel  disposed  to  question  the 
titles  of  Jose  Maria. 

He  is  a  chivalrous  reformer,  a  gallant  leveler  of 
those  invidious  distinctions,  which  the  inequalities 
of  property  never  fail  to  create.  A  fundamental 


176  TRAITS    OF    AN    OUTLAW. 

principle  in  his  innovating  code  appears  to  be.  that 
as  wealth  is  generally  an  adventitious  circumstance, 
a  participation  in  its  benefits  should  not  be  denied  to 
those  who  have  been  less  favored  of  fortune.  Ac 
cordingly  in  his  disposal  of  all  the  contributions, 
which  he  levies  upon  the  traveler  and  citizen,  he 
manifests  a  scrupulous  regard  to  the  demands  of  the 
poor,  reserving  to  himself  only  a  sufficiency  for  the 
support  of  his  hardy  clan.  His  mode  of  operation 
has  none  of  that  creeping,  skulking  meanness  and 
cruelty  about  it,  which  so  frequently  disfigure  the 
character  of  the  outlaw.  He  rides  in  broad  day 
light  into  the  neighborhood  of  some  town  or  vil 
lage,  summons  individually  the  more  wealthy  por 
tion  of  its  inhabitants  to  appear  before  him,  and  then 
names  a  definitive  sum,  which  they  must  deliver  to 
him,  in  a  specific  number  of  hours.  They  do  not 
dare  to  disregard  the  summons,  or  refuse  the  amount 
demanded.  This  levy,  reaching  in  some  instances 
a  very  large  amount,  he  distributes,  with  a  slight 
reserve  for  himself,  among  the  poorer  classes  of  that 
community. 

He  has  never  been  known  to  shed  blood,  nor  is 
he  often  under  the  necessity  of  resorting  to  violent 
threats.  The  traveler  discovers  at  once,  that  resist 
ance  would  be  vain,  and  yields  with  as  good  a  grace 
as  he  can.  Yet  the  gallant  robber  will  by  no  means 
deprive  him  of  his  last  farthing,  but  leave  him 
enough,  with  due  economy,  to  reach  his  destination, 


TRAITS    OF    AN   OUTLAW.  177 

or  some  place  where  he  may  replenish  his  funds. 
Sometimes  when  the  individual  happens  to  be  a 
wealthy  citizen  of  Spain,  traveling  perhaps  a  short 
distance,  without  much  encumbrance  of  specie 
about  his  person,  Jose  Maria  furnishes  him  with 
pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  a  suggestion — rather  an 
embarrassing  one  to  be  sure— for  him  to  draw  on 
his  banker  for  a  few  thousand,  and  then  politely, 
entertains  his  guest,  till  the  draft  has  been  presented 
and  the  funds  procured ;  and  even  then  he  is  not 
discharged  without  an  allowance  sufficient  for  his 
comfortable  return  home.  In  this  manner  he  de 
tained  not  long  since,  in  his  little  encampment,  even 
the  governor  of  Malaga.  The  only  consequence 
was,  that  his  excellency  returned  from  his  morning 
ride  with  a  pile  or  two  less  of  doubloons  in  his  drawer; 
than  what  he  possessed  upon  mounting  his  steed ; 
and  many  widows  and  orphans  had  another  dona 
tion  to  expect  from  their  wild  benefactor. 

Another  striking  trait  in  the  character  of  Jose 
Maria,  is  his  uniform  courtesy  to  the  ladies.  So 
far  from  offering  them  the  slightest  indignity,  it  is 
an  offence  which  he  punishes  in  his  ranks  with 
death.  He  does,  indeed,  require  them  to  aid  him 
in  the  support  of  the  numerous  objects  dependent  on 
his  bounty ;  but  he  makes  his  demand  with  so 
much  politeness,  with  such  a  gentlemanly  bearing, 
that  they  could  hardly  have  the  disposition  to 
refuse,  even  were  it  in  their  power,  But  when  the 


178  TRAITS    OF    AN    OUTLAW. 

intercepted  lady  proves  to  be  destitute  of  funds,  he 
generously  supplies  her  with  the  means  of  pursuing 
her  journey,  and  parts  with  her  upon  such  terms, 
that  she  will  smile  in  her  sleep  as  she  dreams  of 
him  through  many  a  night  afterwards.  A  lady  of 
large  fortune,  wishing  recently  to  travel  from  Mala 
ga  to  Madrid,  sent  out  to  Jose  and  obtained  a  passport, 
for  which  she  paid  fifty  dollars  ;  but  it  so  happened, 
owing  to  some  very  natural  mistake  on  the  part  of 
the  courtly  king  of  the  roads,  that  she  was  stopped 
on  her  route.  She  had,  however,  only  to  present 
her  passport,  when  a  handsome  apology  was  made  for 
the  interruption,  and  she  was  allowed  to  proceed  on 
her  way  with  many  kind  wishes.  The  gallant  free 
booter  never  violates  his  word. 

Several  Englishmen,  recently  traveling  through 
Spain,  were  intercepted  by  this  gentlemanly  robber, 
who  exercised  considerable  liberty  with  their  heavy 
purses,  but  allowed  them  to  retain  sufficient  to  take 
them  to  a  town,  where  they  could  draw  on  their 
bankers.  Upon  parting  with  them,  he  good  humor- 
edly  remarked,  that  as  English  travelers  were  in 
the  habit  of  writing  and  publishing  journals,  he 
trusted  they  would  speak  of  him  in  those  terms  of 
respect  to  which  he  was  justly  entitled.  They 
might  call  him  a  robber — an  outlaw :  to  these 
appellations  he  had  no  objections ;  but  they  must 
not  write  him  down  a  bloody  blackguard ;  for  his 
reputation  was  much  dearer  to  him  than  his  life. 


TRAITS    OF    AN    OUTLAW.  179 

So  John  Bull  departed,  in  a  little  vexation  for  the 
loss  of  the  money,  mingled  with  an  admiring  asto 
nishment  at  the  open  and  courtly  manner,  in  which 
it  had  been  exacted. 

Another  redeeming  characteristic  in  Jose  Maria, 
is  his  ardent  love  of  liberty.  When  a  person  has 
fallen  under  the  ban,  for  the  freedom  of  his  political 
opinions,  this  friend  of  the  oppressed  frequently 
effects  his  entire  release.  The  expedients,  by  which 
he  accomplishes  this  are  novel  and  various  ;  but 
they  all  bespeak  a  singular  shrewdness  of  intellect, 
and  energy  of  conduct.  A  man  of  considerable 
distinction  was  recently  condemned  to  the  gallows, 
as  entertaining  sentiments  too  republican  for  the 
despotical  nature  of  ttie  times.  So  Jose  just  took 
into  custody,  as  hostages,  three  or  four  monks,  and 
informed  the  proper  authorities,  that  in  case  the  capi 
tal  sentence  should  be  executed  on  the  prisoner,  the 
heads  of  these  monks  should  roll  after  him  to  the 
grave.  The  menace  had  the  intended  effect.  The 
captive  was  released  ;  and  the  men  of  saintly  garb 
were  allowed  to  return  to  their  books  and  beads. 
Sometimes  he  even  enters  the  place  of  execution, 
and  rescues  the  noble  victim,  while  ascending  the 
scaffold.  His  very  name  strikes  a  terror  into  tyran 
ny,  and  disarms  the  miscreants  that  riot  in  its  cru 
elties. 

Many  efforts  have  been  made  by  the  Spanish 
authorities  to  take  Jose  Maria,  and  bring  him  to  an 


180  ALEMEDA    AT    TWILIGHT. 

ignominious  death ;  but  they  have  proved  unsuc 
cessful.  The  mountain  fastness,  the  blades  of  his 
trusty  followers,  the  voice  of  the  thousands  he  has 
fed,  and,  above  all,  his  own  exhaustless  genius,  have 
been  his  defence.  He  has  his  regular  brokers  in 
Malaga  to  facilitate  his  operations ;  and  he  has 
also  a  timid  Medora  here,  whom  he  frequently  visits 
in  the  stormy  night,  and  with  whom  he  talks  over 
the  perils  of  his  present  condition,  and  a  hope  of  bet 
ter  days  to  come.  It  is  presumed  by  many,  that 
her  gentle  influence  will  induce  him  at  length  to 
abandon  his  adventurous  life,  and  accept  a  situation 
under  a  government  that  is  already  willing  to  pur 
chase  his  alliance,  at  almost  any  price. 

Before  leaving  this  ancient  town  of  Spain,  I 
must  pause  a  moment  at  the  Alemeda,  the  most 
attractive  spot  in  Malaga.  This  green  promenade, 
shaded  with  orange  and  oleander  trees,  occupies  a 
spacious  place,  in  the  most  elegant  portion  of  the 
city.  It  is  ornamented  with  a  superb  fountain, 
ever  showering  its  refreshing  waters  among  groups 
of  marble  statues,  which  have  all  the  frolic  and  gar- 
mentless  glee  of  the  bath  !  This  fountain  was  a 
present,  from  the  republic  of  Genoa,  to  the  emperor 
Charles  V. ;  and  after  having  passed1  through  the 
vicissitudes  of  being  captured  by  an  Algerine  cor 
sair,  and  of  fortunately  being  retaken,  was  brought 
to  this  port,  and  finally  placed  where  it  now  stands. 
But  the  Alemeda,  at  the  purpling  twilight,  has  a 


SPANISH    LADY.  181 

still  lovelier  sight  than  this.     It  is  not  beauty  in  the 
changeless  representations  of  marble,  but  in  the  full 
pulse  and  play  of  real  life.     At  this  mellowing  hour, 
the  fair  Malaguena  may  be  seen,  gliding  away  with 
the  family  group,  from  the  restricted  corridor,  to  this 
more  ample  and  animating  promenade.     Her  man 
tilla  falls  in  light  flowing  folds  over  the  glossy  clus 
ters  of  her  raven  locks,  and  seems  so  attracted  by 
the  charms  which  it  half  conceals,  that  it  scarcely 
needs  even  the  delicate  confinement  of  the  jeweled 
hand,  that  now  and  then  adjusts  its  condition.     Her 
basquinia,  with  its  deep  tasseled  festoons,  falls  from 
the  cincture  of  the  slight  waist,  in  spreading  adap 
tation  to  the  fuller  developments  of  her  form,  down 
to  an  ankle,  over  which  it  scarcely  consents  to 
extend  the  obscuring  veil  of  its  drapery.    Her  small 
round  foot,  which  seems  at  every  moment  in  the 
act  of  leaping  from  its  little  slipper,  leaves  the  earth, 
and  lights  upon  it  again,  with  most  exquisite  grace 
and  precision.     Her   countenance,  ever  partaking 
more  of  thoughtful  ness  than  mirth,  has  the  carnation 
melting  through  the  transparent  cheek — the  slum 
ber  of  a  smile  around  the  lip  ;  and  the  tender  light 
of  a  full,  black,  overpowering  eye. 

As  she  floats  along,  she  casts  upon  you,  if  an 
intimate,  a  look  of  the  most  glad  and  sparkling 
recognition, — if  a  stranger,  a  look  that  lingers  on 
your  heart  long  after  the  beautiful  being  herself  may 
have  passed  away.  It  is  precisely  such  a  look,  as 
16 


182  SOCIAL    GROUPS. 

one  would  wear,  who  is  pleased  that  there  is  just 
such  a  being  as  yourself  in  the  world,  and  is  happy 
in  passing  you  this  once,  though  she  may  never 
meet  you  again.  It  may,  perhaps,  be  owing  to  my 
unfamiliarity  with  the  world  ;  but  I  did  not  suppose 
it  possible  for  a  person  to  find,  in  a  land  of  strangers, 
that  which  could  so  allure  him  to  the  spot,  and  strike 
to  his  inmost  sensibilities — as  what  one  must  experi 
ence,  who  puts  his  foot  within  the  sweet  environs  of 
Malaga. 

But  there  are  other  engaging  objects  at  sunset 
in  this  Alemeda.  Groups  of  sweetly  clad  children 
frolic  hand  in  hand,  up  and  down  its  floating  area  ; 
while  the  little  miss  of  ten,  under  a  less  reserve  than 
her  senior  sister,  smiles  up  to  you,  with  a  counte 
nance  full  of  light  and  gladness.  You  feel  half  dis 
posed  to  recognize  this  infantine  pleasure,  in  the 
liberties  of  a  kiss,  but  not  venturing  so  far,  you  pass  on, 
only  to  encounter  again  the  same  captivating  scene. 
You  meet  also,  at  every  turn,  a  cleanly  clad  indi 
vidual,  ready  to  help  you  to  a  glass  of  fresh  water,  a 
rich  ice  cream,  or  one  ready  with  his  little  flambeau,  to 
light  your  cigar.  Under  the  shade  of  the  orange  and 
oleander,  you  pass  social  groups,  on  their  circling' 
chairs,  holding  their  free  tertulia,  where  every  topic 
takes  its  light  and  transient  turn.  From  every  thing 
that  you  see,  your  impression  is,  that  the  little  embar 
rassments,  imposed  by  adventitious  superiority,  are 
here  laid  aside — that  artificial  restraints  are  forgot- 


FUNERAL    PROCESSION.  183 

ten — that  heart  meets  heart,  and  that  many,  with 
out  being  the  less  wise,  are  rendered  the  more 
happy  by  such  pastimes. 

We  had  taken  leave  of  these  gay  groups,  and 
turned  to  depart  for  our  boats,  which  were  waiting 
at  the  beach,  when  another  scene,  and  one  that 
strangely  contrasted  with  those  around,  arrested  our 
steps.  It  would  seem  as  if  it  had  come  only  to  re 
mind  us  of  the  fleeting  nature  of  the  objects  that  we 
had  been  admiring,  to  tell  us  that  all  this  bright 
ness  and  beauty,  which  our  feelings  had  almost 
exempted  from  tears  and  decay,  must  pass  down 
under  the  cloud  of  the  grave  !  It  came  nearer,  and 
now  with  a  step  mournful  and  slow  entered  the  Ale- 
meda — this  place  but  a  moment  since  so  full  of  life, 
voices,  and  mirth,  was  now  hushed,  while  every  ear 
was  turned  to  the  low  anthem  of  the  dead.  The 
youth  and  drapery  of  those  who  numerously  follow 
ed  the  bier,  told  that  it  was  to  a  sister's  worth,  that 
they  were  paying  these  last  sad  rites.  It  seemed  as 
if  I  had  known  that  young  being, — as  if  I  had  often 
encountered  her  youthful  face,  heard  her  voice,  and 
seen  her  die. 

But  yesterday  and  thou  wert  bright, 

As  rays  that  fringe  the  early  cloud; 
Now  lost  to  life,  to  love  and  light, 

Wrapt  in  the  winding  sheet  and  shroud ; 
And  darkly  o'er  thee,  broods  the  pall, 

While  faint  and  low  thy  dirge  is  sung; 
And  warm  and  fast  around  thee  fall, 

Tears  of  the  beautiful  and  young. 


184  FUNERAL    PROCESSION. 

No  more,  sweet  one !  on  thee,  no  more 

Will  break  the  day-dawn  fresh  and  fair 
No  more  the  purple  twilight  pour, 

Its  softness  round  thy  raven  hair : 
No  more  beneath  thy  magic  hand. 

Will  wake  the  lyre  s  responsive  lay  ; 
Or  round  its  rings  the  wreath  expand, 

To  crown  a  sister's  natal  day. 

Yet  as  the  sweet  surviving  vine, 

Around  the  bough  that  buds  no  more — 
Will  still  its  tender  leaves  entwine, 

And  bloom  as  freshly  as  before  ; 
So  fond  affection  still  will  shed, 

The  light  on  thee,  it  used  to  wear, 
And  plant  its  roses  round  thy  bed, 

To  breathe  in  fragrant  beauty  there. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

Passage  from  Malaga  to  Mahon— Tedious  Calms— Relieving  Inci 
dents — Visit  of  a  Bird — Capture  of  an  ominous  Shark— Intru 
sions  of  a  Ghost— Unfair  taking  off' of  a  Black  Cat—  Petted  Hedge 
hog — Morgan's  Spectre  at  Niagara. 

WE  have  been  fifteen  days  on  our  passage  from 
Malaga  to  Mahon, — a  distance  frequently  run  in 
less  than  three.  Most  of  the  time,  we  have  been  en 
countering  a  light  head  wind,  or  have  been  lying  in 
a  motionless  calm.  The  sun  has  been  intensely  op 
pressive,  and  we  have  had  nothing  to  temper  its 
burning  ray,  except  a  sight  of  the  snow-clad  moun 
tains  of  Granada.  I  have  sat  by  the  hour  together, 
looking  at  these  icy  pinnacles ;  and  as  my  fancy 
ranged  among  their  shapeless  halls  of  frost,  I  have 
felt,  or  imagined  that  I  felt,  the  palpitating  pulse  be 
come  more  calm  and  cool.  Philosophers  may  say 
what  they  please,  but  a  man's  imagination  has  nearly 
as  much  influence  over  the  temperature  of  his  body, 
as  it  has  over  the  habitudes  of  the  mind.  Who  ever 
in  his  dream  of  the  Avalanche  cast  another  blanket 
from  the  covering  of  his  couch  ? 

A  calm  at  sea,  on  board  a  man-of-war,  is  not 
utterly  unrelieved  by  incidents.  It  is  indeed  devoid 
of  the  peculiar  excitement,  which  a  storm  brings 
16* 


186  VISIT    OF    A    BIRD. 

with  it.  No  spar  is  broken  ;  no  shroud  is  rent ;  no 
sail  casts  its  tattered  form  upon  the  wind  ;  but  some 
novelty  of  a  lighter  and  less  perilous  character,  is 
constantly  occurring.  Some  wandering  bird  will 
rest  its  weary  wing  on  the  mast ;  or  some  hungry 
shark,  that  has  been  hanging  around  the  ship  for 
days,  will  at  last  come  within  the  deadly  reach  of  the 
harpoon  ;  or  some  evil  genius,  that  has  haunted  the 
ship,  in  the  shape  of  a  ghost,  or  the  less  imposing 
form  of  a  black  cat,  will  be  detected  in  the  mysteri 
ous  windings  of  its  iniquitous  errand.  We  have 
experienced  these  incidents,  trifles  in  themselves,  but 
which,  with  many  others  of  a  similar  nature,  tend 
incredibly  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  a  calm  at 
sea. 

The  bird  lighted  on  one  of  our  spars,  just  at  sun 
set,  and  wearied  with  its  long  wanderings  sunk  in 
stantly  to  sleep.  We  sent  up  a  sailor,  had  him 
brought  down  into  the  cabin,  where  he  was  hospi 
tably  entertained  through  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning,  after  attaching  a  small  silk  thread  to  him, 
was  permitted  to  depart,  with  many  warm  wishes  for 
his  safety.  But  the  next  day  at  sunset,  he  lighted 
again  on  one  of  our  top  gallant  yards  ;  we  received 
him  with  a  cordial  welcome  ;  and  parting  with  him 
the  succeeding  morning,  we  attached  to  him  a  slight 
label,  upon  which  was  delicately  printed,  the  name 
of  our  ship,  with  her  latitude  and  longitude.  Thus 
entrusted  and  commissioned,  he  winged  his  way  of^ 


^  CAPTURE    OF    A    SHARK.  187 

with  the  directness  and  speed  of  an  aerial  envoy  • 
and  when  we  next  heard  of  him,  he  had  lighted  at 
an  immense  distance,  on  one  of  our  armed  ships  ; 
conveying-  on  the  label  information  equally  strange 
and  unexpected.  I  would  travel  leagues  to  see  that 
bird  again  ; — but  it  has  gone,  like  most  of  the  beau 
tiful  things  of  this  earth,  which  only  seem  to  cross 
our  path,  and  then  vanish  away  forever !  , 

The  shark  shared  none  of  these  feelings  of  hos 
pitality  and  friendship.  His  very  company  is  re 
garded,  as  an  extremely  ill  omen  ;  especially  when 
there  is  a  person  sick  on  board.  Sailors  believe 
that  this  fearful  fish  has,  what  they  term,  the  instinct 
of  death  ;  and  that  his  appearance  is  good  evidence, 
that  the  body  of  some  one  is  about  to  be  committed 
to  the  deep.  They  also  look  upon  him,  as  in  some 
measure  instrumental,  in  bringing  about  the  melan 
choly  event ;  and  are  therefore  as  anxious  to  secure 
his  destruction,  as  a  threatened  city,  to  arrest  the 
invading  progress  of  the  cholera,  or  plague.  A  fa 
vorite  of  the  crew  was  now  apparently  lying  at  the 
point  of  death ;  and  this  shark  had  been  hanging 
around  our  ship  for  several  days.  The  harpoon  had 
many  times  been  poised  to  strike  him  ;  but  the  wily 
fellow  had  ever  managed  to  escape  the  plunging 
steel.  At  length  an  old  seaman,  who  had  been  ac 
customed  to  strike  the  whale,  on  the  coast  of  Green 
land,  and  who  still  betrayed  the  characteristics  of 
his  rude  profession,  in  the  peculiar  fierce  fixedness 


188  VISIT    OF    A    GHOST. 

of  his  eye,  and  the  muscular  energy  of  his  arms 
taking  the  harpoon,  stationed  himself  on  the  ship's 
bows  and  declared  he  would  never  quit  his  post,  till 
he  had  "  backed  the  topsails  of  that  lurking  devil 
in  the  water."  He  had  not  been  long  on  his  watch, 
before  the  wished  for  opportunity  arrived ;  and 
never  went  an  arrow  to  its  mark  with  more  direct 
ness  and  celerity,  than  the  harpoon  to  its  victim.  It 
struck  him  directly  between  the  fore  fins,  and  with 
such  desperate  force,  that  extrication  and  escape 
were  impossible.  A  shout  of  satisfaction  and  tri 
umph  announced  the  victory  !  The  sick  man  soon 
became  convalescent ;  and  it  would  be  difficult  to 
persuade  many  of  the  crew,  that  his  recovery  is  not 
attributable  to  the  destruction  of  this  ominous 
shark ! 

The  ghost  appeared  in  a  still  more  mysterious 
character.  One  of  the  young  gentlemen,  who  slept 
in  the  cock-pit,  was  observed  rapidly  to  waste  away 
in  his  strength  ;  while  his  countenance  suddenly  as 
sumed  an  aspect  of  melancholy  wildness.  He  was 
naturally  of  a  taciturn  temperament,  little  disposed 
to  obtrude  his  private  fears  and  apprehensions,  upon 
the  attention  of  others.  Perhaps  a  silence  on  the 
present  occasion,  was  the  more  strongly  suggested 
by  the  philosophical  habits,  which  he  had  early  and 
devotedly  cultivated.  He  was  often  questioned  as 
to  the  cause  of  the  wasting  illness,  which  had  now 
become  alarmingly  apparent,  in  the  sunken,  palid 


VISIT    OF    A    GHOST.  189 

expression  of  his  features,  and  the  fitful  nervousness 
of  his  frame.  But  no  reply  could  be  obtained,  ex 
cept  what  might  be  conveyed  in  a  mournful  look 
or  an  involuntary  sigh.  At  last  however  he  ac 
knowledged  that  something  appeared  nightly  before 
him,  the  most  unearthly  in  its  shape  ;  and  which,  in 
spite  of  his  utter  disbelief  in  supernatural  appear 
ances,  struck  a  chilling  terror  to  his  heart ;  and  that 
on  such  occasions  the  hammock,  in  which  he  repo 
sed,  was  violently  agitated,  and  swung  against  the 
bulk-head,  with  a  force,  which  no  motion  of  the  sea 
could  create. 

The  rush  of  the  hammock  against  the  bulk 
head  had  for  several  'nights  awakened  the  alarm  of 
his  companions  in  the  cock-pit.  This  fact,  together 
with  the  known  character  of  the  individual  for 
veracity  and  sound  sense,  induced  us  to  set  a  watch 
to  detect,  if  possible,  the  mysterious  agent  of  these 
alarms.  This  watch,  consisting  of  three  faithful 
and  intelligent  individuals,  in  the  first  place  searched 
the  apartment  in  which  the  invalid  slept,  carefully 
closing  and  securing  every  door  which  led  into  it ; 
and  then  waited,  with  dead  lanterns  in  their  hands, 
for  the  nocturnal  visitant.  As  the  clock  struck  the 
hour  of  twelve,  a  low,  vacant  moan  was  heard,  and 
the  patient  who  had,  till  now,  remained  composed 
on  his  pillow,  starting  up,  exclaimed, — «  There  it 
is  !"  "  there  it  comes  !" — "  merciful  heaven,  protect 
me !"  His  hammock,  at  the  same  instant,  rushed 


190  VISIT    OF    A    GHOST. 

against  the  bulk-head  with  a  violence  which  no  mor 
tal  arm  could  impart.  Large  drops  of  cold  perspira 
tion  stood  on  the  forehead  of  the  patient ;  his  eyes 
were  starting  from  their  sockets,  and  every  nerve  in 
his  frame  was  shaking  with  a  strange,  unnatural 
fear.  Search  was  immediately  made,  but  no  ves 
tige  of  any  living  thing  could  be  discovered,  nor 
any  clue  to  the  convulsive  movements  of  the  ham 
mock,  or  hollow  moan  of  the  voice,  or  ghastly  form 
of  the  apparition.  The  watch  was  exchanged  for 
many  nights  in  succession,  and  the  same  mysterious 
phenomena  witnessed  by  each,  till  even  the  most 
sceptical  regarded  incredulity  no  longer  an  evidence 
of  superior  sagacity,  or  philosophical  wisdom. 

Nor  were  these  strange  appearances  confined  to 
the  cock-pit ;  but  the  men  stationed  in  the  tops, 
observed  a  singular  form,  in  a  dress  of  spotless  white, 
moving  among  the  rigging — now  pausing  upon  one 
of  the  yards,  now  ascending  to  mast-head,  and  then 
again  balancing  itself  upon  some  of  the  lighter 
tracery  of  the  ship.  The  unsubstantial  movements 
of  this  spectre  among  the  shrouds,  and  loftier  appen 
dages  of  the  ship,  awakened  in  the  susceptible  mind 
of  the  sailor,  the  most  alarming  apprehensions. 
You  would  see  him,  as  he  was  ordered  to  take  his 
watch  aloft,  squaring  off  towards  the  ratlines,  with 
the  looks  and  attitudes  of  one,  doubtful  of  results, 
but  at  least  resolved  to  die  manfully.  "Let  him 
come,"  Jack  would  murmur,  "  like  something  that 


THE    BLACK    CAT.  191 

has  common  honesty  about  him,  and  smite  my  timbers, 
if  I  don't  knock  daylight  out  of  him  ;  but  this  jump 
ing  about  on  the  ropes,  half  the  time  in  the  air,  and 
half  the  time  on  nothing,  is  fonl  play,  and  bodes  no 
good."  The  imaginations  of  the  crew  soon  became 
so  excited,  that  nothing  was  thought  or  dreamt  of 
among  them,  but  ghosts,  spectres,  hobgoblins  and 
blood  !  These  alarms  not  only  gave  rise  to  many 
frightful  stories,  but  they  called  up,  from  the  smo 
thered  graves  of  memory,  tales  terrific  enough  to 
startle  the  dead  in  their  shrouds  ! 

The  incantation,  from  which  these  ghostly  ter 
rors  emanated,  has  now  been  sufficiently  traced,  to 
remove  all  apprehensions  of  a  supernatural  agency. 
It  was  the  jugglery  of  a  young  man,  the  apparent 
artlessness  of  whose  disposition  had  subjected  him  to 
many  a  ludicrous  hoax,  from  the  junior  officers  and 
some  of  the  crew.  But  he  has  enjoyed  a  most 
ample  retaliation  : 

The  luckless  subject  of  the  merry  trick, 
Became  himself  the  master  of  the  spell, 
And  rolled  the  laughter  back. 

The  fate  of  the  black  cat  was  one,  which  the 
admirers  of  the  tabby  tribe  will  sternly  disapprove. 
This  restless  domestic  is  looked  upon  by  the  sailor, 
especially  when  afflicted  with  a  black  visage,  with 
no  kindly  or  tolerant  feelings.  There  is  no  bad 
luck  about  the  ship,  which  is  not  ascribed  to  some 
evil  influence,  which  she  is  supposed  to  exercise. 


192  THE    BLACK   CAT. 

Hence,  in  a  storm,  or  dead  calm,  poor  tab  has  a  tre 
mendous  responsibility.     Our  unfortunate  puss  had 
been  taken  on  board  at  Malaga,  and  since  her  em 
barkation  we  had  not  been  visited  by  one  favorable 
breeze.     This  calamity  was  attributed  to  her  uni 
versally  among  the  crew.     There  needed  no  lan 
guage  to  tell  what  their  sentiments  were,  for  as  puss 
came    upon  deck,   so   far  from   being  petted,   she 
encountered  every  where  looks  of  the  most  threat 
ening  aversion.     "  Never."  said  an  old  tar  to  me, 
"  did  any  good  come  to  a  ship  that  had  a  black  cat  in 
its  concern.     I  have  sailed,"  he  continued,  "  on  every 
sea,  and  in  every  kind  of  craft,  and  I  never  yej 
knew  a  ship  make  a  good  voyage,  that  went  to  sea 
on  Friday,  or  had  on  board  one  of  these^black  imps. 
These  are  facts,  sir ;  land  lubbers   may  laugh   at 
them,  but  they  are  facts,  and  true  as  my  name  is 
John  Wilkins."    It  was  of  no  use  to  question  the 
convictions  of  the  old  seaman's  experience  ;  he  was 
as  confident  and  deeply  earnest  as  a  man  testifying 
to  the  indisputable  evidence  of  his  senses.     It  was 
for  this  reason,  that  he,  with  some  others,  formed 
that  shocking  purpose  so  fatal  to  poor  tab.  For  on  that 
very  night,  in  the  middle  watch,  a  quick  plunge  was 
heard  in  the  calm  sea,  and  the  next  morning  puss 
was  missing  !     They  had  attached  to  her  a  heavy 
shot,  and  she  sunk  at  once  to  the  centre  of  the  great 
floating  realm,  where  she  remains  unapproached  by 
the  animosity  of  man,  or  the  footsteps  of  the  reckless 


PETTED    HEDGE-HOG.  193 

rat !  Sterne  would  have  written  her  epitaph  in 
tears;  but  I  am  not  penning  a  sentimental  journal, 
nor  am  I  now  in  the  lachrymal  vein  ;  yet  I  would 
not  have  purchased  by  such  a  deed  even  the  fine 
breeze,  which  visited  us  the  next  day,  and  .which 
was  regarded  by  the  taby-cides  as  a  sanction  of  their 
sanguinary  conduct.  We  should  never  forget,  that 
many  a  man  has  atoned,  by  his  death,  for  a  life  of 
crime,  which  commenced  in  the  destruction  of  a 
harmless  insect.  We  should  also  bear  in  mind,  the 
irremediable  deprivation  of  life  and  happiness,  which 
even  in  these  trifling  instances,  we  inflict ;  for 

"  The  poor  beetle,  that  we  tread  upon, 
In  corporal  sufferance  finds  a  pang,  as  great 
As  when  a  giant  dies." 

Though  the  antipathy  of  the  sailor  to  the  shark 
and  black  cat,  is  so  unqualified,  yet  his  friendship 
and  affection  are  extended  to  objects,  nearly  as 
numberless  and  ill-favored,  as  those  to  which  the 
superstitious  Egyptian  paid  the  homage  of  his  pro 
miscuous  worship.  The  favorite  pet  on  board,  at  the 
present  time,  is  a  hedge-hog  ;  who  moves  about  with 
an  air  of  freedom  and  independence,  which  is  truly 
enviable.  Notwithstanding  his  bristling  quills,  and 
inimical  attitudes,  he  is  cherished  by  the  crew,  with 
as  much  solicitude,  as  if  he  were  a  cherub,  destined 
one  day  to  herald  their  spirits  to  a  brighter  and  bet 
ter  world.  They  have  already  initiated  him  into 
some  of  our  earthly  sciences  ;  and  though  he  may 
17 


194  BELIEF    IN    GHOSTS. 

not  be  able  now  to  solve  a  deep  mathematical  pro 
blem,  or  sing  an  exquisite  son?,  yet  he  appears  to  be 
daily  taking  observations  of  the  sun,  and  setting  his 
organs  for  a  melodious  burst.  He  will  not  probably 
at  first  do  justice  to  some  of  the  more  touching 
strains  of  a  Rossini,  yet  he  will  doubtless  far  surpass 
many  of  our  ladies,  who  affect  a  contempt  for  all 
music,  except  these  difficult  compositions. 

I  return  to  ghosts  :  not  that  I  would  intimate  the 
presence  of  any  on  board  our  ship  at  this  time,  or 
maintain,  by  an  introduction  of  stern  evidence,  the 
credibility  of  their  existence.  I  consider  this  ques 
tion  as  settled  conclusively,  among  all  enlightened 
unprejudiced  minds.  A  few,  indeed,  may  still  with 
hold  their  assent,  but  their  scepticism  evinces  only 
their  want  of  philosophy,  their  weakness,  and 
vanity.  They  refuse  their  belief,  as  they  inform 
us,  because  no  one  of  these  mysterious  beings  has 
ever  appeared  in  the  day  time.  Now,  what  a  fool  a 
ghost  must  be,  to  make  his  appearance  in  broad  day 
light,  subjecting  himself  not  only  to  the  impudent 
curiosity  of  mankind,  but  to  the  riddling  rays  of  the 
sun,  when  even  the  moon-beams  cast  through  him 
their  sickly  light !  v 

But  it  is  not  a  fact,  as  stated,  that  no  one  of 
these  spectres  has  appeared  in  the  daytime.  When 
Morgan  was  put  to  death,  on  the  strand  of  Niagara, 
for  his  treachery,  and  his  body  sunk  in  that  stream, 
there  appeared  hovering  around  the  place3  an  uncor- 


MORGAN'S  SPECTRE?.  195 

poreal  being,  so  like  him  in  every  look,  that  no  one 
questioned  the  identity,  or  doubted  the  tragic  deed. 
The  discovery  filled  every  body  with  consternation, 
arid  the  whole  land  shook,  like  the  bones  of  a 
skeleton  under  a  galvanic  battery.  Thousands 
not  only  abjured  masonry,  but  renounced  their 
political  faith.  I  made  myself  a  palpitating  pilgrim 
age  to  Niagara.  Aye— and  I  shall  never  forget  that 
vision ! 

There  walks  o'er  steep  Niagara's  wave, 
A  ghost,  whose  form  hath  found  a  grave, 

Deep  in  those  whelming  tides; 
Its  feathered  footsteps  scarcely  seem 
To  bend  the  surface  of  the  stream, 

O'er  which  this  phantom  glides. 

Around  it  there  is  cast  a  shroud, 
That  seems  more  like  a  folding  cloud, 

Than  aught  that  mortals  wear; 
Its  downcast  eye,  its  faded  cheek, 
Its  pale  and  trembling  lips  bespeak 

A  spirit  of  despair. 

It  moans  a  hoarse  and  hollow  wail, 
That  mingles  with  the  gusty  gale, 

And  with  the  rumbling  flood  ; 
It  points  toward  the  crimsoned  shore, 
And  shrieks,  as  if  it  felt  once  more 

The  knife  that  drank  us  blood. 

Its  wail  is  echoed  wild  and  wide, 

From  rock,  awJ  steep,  and  bounding  tide, 

Around  thut  haunted  coast ; 
And  fearful  mothers,  trembling,  tell 
Their  little  ones  how  Morgan  fell, 

And  of  this  wandering  ghost. 

Along  that  fatal  shore  is  heard 
No  more  the  song  of  merry  bird, 

Or  sound  of  hunter's  horn  ; 
The  faithful  watch-dog  seems  afraid 
Of  every  sound  that  stirs  the  shade, 

And  bays  till  peep  of  inorn. 


196  MORGAN'S  SPECTRE. 

No  more  can  sun,  nor  lunar  beam, 
Erect  a  rainbow  o'er  that  stream, 

From  which  the  fish  have  fled; 
But  there  a  little  cloud  appears, 
And  sheds  its  unregarded  tears, 

Like  one  that  weeps  the  dead. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Mahon— Harbor— Fort  St.  Philip — Admiral  Byng— Lazaretto— Navy 
Yard— Habits  of  the  Mahonees — Effects  of  a  certain  Vice  on 
Man— Grand  Organ— Sailors  on  Shore — Jack  and  the  Opera — 
Commander  of  the  Squadron— Entertainments. 

WE  are  now  riding  at  anchor  in  the  harbor  of 
Mahon.     This  harbor  cuts  its  narrow  way  between 
bold  and  broken  shores,  for  several  miles,  into  the 
island  ;  affording,  through  its  whole  length,  a  most 
secure  anchorage.     The  waters  in  this  deep  chan 
nel  lie  as  still  as  the  fabled  river  of  Death,  but  they 
are  much  less  gloomy  than  the  tideless  flow  of  that 
sullen  flood.      They  are  relieved  by  a  picturesque 
shore — by  the  frequent  ship  reposing  proudly  on  her 
element,  and  the  traversing  speed  of  innumerable 
boats,  leaving  behind  their  hastening  keels  a  long 
train  of  phosphoric  light.     Nothing  can  surpass  the 
sentiment  of  quietude  and  security,  which  one  feels, 
riding  here  at  anchor,  while  the  chafing  ocean  is 
fretting  against  the   rocky  barrier  without.     It  is 
like  a  snug  seat  by  the  side  of  a  cheerful  fire,  in  a 
cold  winter's  night,  while  the  storm  and  sleet  are 
driving  against  your  secure  casement. 

On  entering  this  harbor  you  pass,  upon  the  left, 
17* 


198  FORT    ST.    PHILIP. 

the  ruins  of  Fort  St.  Philip  ;  a  fortification,  that,  in 
the  day  of  its  pride  and  strength,  might  have  looked 
with  scornful  defiance  upon  the  menaces  of  any 
invading  foe.  The  enduring  parapet,  the  winding 
galleries  cut  in  the  solid  rock,  with  the  heavy  bas 
tion  above,  may  still  be  traced,  though  they  are  but 
the  dim  and  broken  outline  of  ruined  strength. 
This  work  of  demolition  is  not  the  effect  of  time, 
but  the  condition  of  a  treaty  founded  in  weakness 
and  folly.  The  once  impregnable  character  of  this 
fort  owed  its  existence  to  British  skill  and  hardi 
hood  ;  and  in  the  possession  of  that  sagacious 
power,  it  would  have  preserved  this  character,  but 
every  thing  was  lost  by  a  lamentable  want  of 
judgment  or  courage  in  Admiral  Byng. 

The  French,  in  their  war  of  conquest,  had  fixed 
a  determined  eye  on  this  spot ;  they  had  hovered 
around  it  with  their  fleet,  and  cut  oif  all  foreign 
supply  of  provisions.  The  islanders,  with  a  most 
unaccountable  insanity,  withheld  the  few  supplies 
which  it  was  in  their  power  to  afford,  and  conse 
quently  the  garrison  was  reduced  to  a  state  of  star 
vation  ;  still  the  besieged  held  out  with  incredible 
self-denial  and  perseverance.  At  last  the  fleet  of 
Admiral  Byng  hove  in  sight,  bringing  with  it  the 
relief,  for  which  so  many  were  famishing  and 
fainting  in  death.  But  how  appalling  must  have 
been  their  feelings,  their  despair,  when  they  saw 
this  fleet,  after  maneuvering  in  sight  of  an  enemy, 


ENGLISH    ADMIRAL.  199 

to  which  they  were  superior  in  force,  bear  off,  and 
leave  them  to  their  melancholy  fate  ?  It  is  no  won 
der,  that  in  their  mortified  pride  and  indignation  at 
this  desertion,  and  in  the  extremities  of  their  famish 
ing  condition,  they  surrendered. 

They  were  compelled  to  yield  to  the  enemy,  or 
the  grave.  In  the  excitements  of  a  desperate  con 
flict,  men  may  prefer  the  latter,  but  without  this  ab 
sorbing  passion,  there  are  but  few  who  may  not  be 
slowly  tortured  by  famine  into  a  surrender  of  tem 
porary  power.  For  this  act  of  seeming  treachery, 
and  its  disastrous  consequences,  the  Admiral  atoned 
by  an  ignominious  death.  I  can  never  think  of  his 
last  end,  however,  without  some  sentiments  of  com 
passion.  Perhaps  his  conduct  flowed  less  from  cow 
ardice  than  irresolution,  and  that  strange  bewilder 
ment,  into  which  the  minds  of  some  men  are  cast, 
by  the  impetuous  approach  of  a  trying  and  perilous 
moment.  If  penalties  can  atone  for  indiscretion  or 
crime,  the  memory  of  this  unfortunate  man  should 
be  allowed  to  rest  without  reproach. 

Upon  the  opposite  bank,  are  the  remains  of  fort 
Marlborongh  ;  but  there  is  now  no  terror  or  majesty 
about  it,  except  what  lingers  in  its  name.  How 
are  the  most  formidable  works  of  man  cast  aside, 
like  weeds  which  the  wave  sweeps  from  the  rock ! 
If  man ,  in  the  frenzy  of  his  passions,  does  not  de 
stroy  his  own  works,  time  soon  comes  with  his  level 
ing  wand  and  leaves  only  enough  to  puzzle  the  anti 
quary. 


200  LAZARETTO — NAVY-YARD. 

Not  far  from  the  relics  of  this  fort,  stands  the 
Lazaretto  ;  a  noble  monument  of  wisdom  and  hu 
manity.  In  the  extent  and  convenience  of  its 
apartments  it  is  surpassed  in  Europe  only  by  that  of 
Marseilles.  It  is  about  fifteen  hundred  yards  in 
circumference,  and  so  arranged  in  its  interior  con 
struction,  that  the  most  malignant  or  contagious 
diseases  cannot  spread  from  one  ward  to  another, 
Its  accommodations  are  sufficiently  ample  to  meet 
any  emergency,  that  may  arise  among  the  squad 
rons  which  frequent  this  sea.  How  much  wiser 
is  it  in  a  nation  to  expend  its  treasures  in  the  con 
struction  of  establishments  of  this  kind,  than  in  the 
erection  of  sumptuous  monasteries  for  the  accon> 
modation  of  indolence  and  infamy  ? 

Higher  up  the  harbor,  and  near  the  right  bank, 
emerges  from  the  wave  the  quarantine  island. — 
Around  this  may  be  seen,  moored  in  security,  the 
ships  and  craft  of  various  nations,  undergoing  their 
purifying  penalties.  Directly  opposite  stands  the 
village  of  Georgetown  ;  whose  kindly  inhabitants, 
it  is  said,  extend  their  hospitality  even  beyond  that 
line  where  virtue  should  pause,  and  beauty  veil  the 
winning  aspect  of  her  charms.  Still  ascending,  we 
pass,  near  the  right  shore,  Hospital  island,  with  its 
infirmary  ;  where  the  diseased  may  be  fitted  to  join 
the  living,  or  the  innumerable  dead. 

Higher  up  still,  on  the  same  shore,  and  near  the 
head  of  deep  water,  we  find  the  navy- yard,  with 
its  small  octagonal  islet,  ware-houses,  and  the  count- 


TOWN    OF    MAHON.  201 

less  facilities,  which  the  mutable  habits  of  a  ship's 
exterior  render  so  desirable.  Here  you  may  seethe 
majestic  ship  reduced  in  a  few  hours,  as  by  the  de 
molishing  stroke  of  a  wizard's  wand,  to  a  mere  hulk  ; 
and  then,  as  if  by  the  same  magical  influence,  sud 
denly  assuming  again  all  its  wonted  stateliness  and 
beauty.  The  dexterity  and  force  of  nautical  science 
is  no  where  more  strikingly  displayed,  than  in  the 
extent  and  rapidity  of  these  metamorphic  exhibitions. 
I  would  as  soon  attempt  to  construct  a  world,  as  to 
return  a  tenth  portion  of  the  disengaged  upper  works 
of  a  ship  to  their  puzzling  places. 

Opposite  the  navy-yard  stands  the  town  of  Ma- 
hon,  with  its  narrow  quay,  scarcely  affording  a 
foundation  for  the  range  of  store  houses,  which  wall 
the  low  shore  ;  while  far  above  in  giddy  elevation 
the  more  advanced  dwellings  of  the  place  appear  to 
nod  from  the  toppling  crags.  Ascending  to  their 
airy  position  by  paths' cut  in  the  rock,  or  secured 
among  the  spiral  clefts,  you  find  yourself  in  a  quiet 
town,  with  clean  streets,  unambitious  but  neatdwell- 
ings,  and  a  population  characterized  for  their  indus 
try,  honesty,  frugality  and  amiable  deportment.  I 
have  seldom  been  in  a  community  where  there  is 
so  much  to  pity,  and  so  much  to  admire. 

Their  poverty  is  attended  by  a  simplicity,  and 
self-relying  struggle  at  alleviation,  which  move  your 
heart.  It  is  not  poverty  in  a  cottage,  surrounded 
and  alleviated  by  rural  delights.  There  are  hhere 


202  HABITS    OF    THE    MAHONEES. 

no  rushing  streams,  no  waving  forests,  no  flocks 
that  skip  the  hills,  or  luxuriate  in  the  vales ;  no  lay 
of  nightingales  to  charm  in  the  purple  evening,  or 
song  of  early  birds  to  usher  up  the  rosy  morn.  It  is 
poverty  unrelieved  by  any  of  these  romantic  inci 
dents.  It  is  poverty  in  a  city  ;  in  a  confined  town, 
and  among  a  people  whose  commerce  has  been 
crushed ;  whose  resources  have  been  cut  off  by  a 
despotism  that  disgraces  the  age  in  which  it  is  per 
mitted  to  exist.  Mahon.  with  its  due  privileges  of 
trade,  might  be  a  place  of  great  enterprise  and 
wealth  ;  but  under  its  present  onerous  and  prohiba- 
tory  restrictions,  it  is  doomed  to  languish  on  in  a 
life  of  hopeless  poverty. 

Though  the  encouragements  to  industy  here  are 
miserably  slender — such  as  in  our  country  would 
be  regarded  as  a  mere  mockery — yet  I  have  seldom 
been  in  a  community  of  more  active  habits.  I  have 
seen  the  mother  rising  with  the  earliest  dawn,  assi 
duously  plyinor  her  task,  till  a  late  hour  of  rest,  and 
gaining  but  a  few  farthings,  scarcely  sufficient  to  pur 
chase  a  loaf  of  coarse  bread  for  her  helpless  offspring. 
There  was  about  her,  in  her  toil  and  deprivations, 
a  cheerfulness  and  alacrity,  which  affected  me  far 
more  than  all  the  dismal  complaints  and  solicita 
tions  of  indolent  mendicity.  It  may  be  a  weakness,  but 
I  could  cheerfully  divide  my  last  penny  with  such  an 
individual.  I  never  before  so  deeply  regretted  the 
narrowness  of  my  means.  I  could  hardly  wish  for 


HABITS    OP   THE    MAHONEES.  203 

a  greater  earthly  felicity,  than  being  placed  in  a 
population  of  this  description,  with  the  power  of  re 
lieving  their  wants,  and  making  them  happy. 

If,  in  the  more  dependent  sex,  aberrations  from 
rectitude  here  are  too  frequently  to  be  met  with, 
it  is  ascribable,  in  my  apprehension,  less  to  the 
want  of  virtue  than  the  yearning  instigations  of 
want.  Poverty  in  this  frail  world  is  a  prolific 
source,  not  only  of  wretchedness,  but  of  moral  tur 
pitude  ;  and  though  it  cannot  sanction  guilt,  yet  per 
haps  it  ought  to  soften  down  the  severity  of  our  de 
nunciations.  We  know  not  what  we  are  made  of, 
till  tried  in  the  furnace  of  adversity ;  we  should  all 
probably  come  forth  from  such  an  ordeal,  with  a 
vast  diminution  of  pride  and  self-complacency. 
When  we  leave  our  plentiful  boards  for  the  crums 
of  a  precarious  subsistence,  we  may  then  speak  of 
temptations  and  the  force  of  virtue. 

Competence  is  one  of  the  strongest  securities 
against  crime.  Treason  to  the  wholesome  institu 
tions  of  society,  and  the  moral  sense  of  mankind,  is 
seldom  a  wanton  act.  A  wise  legislator  aims  to 
make  men  happy,  and  thus  to  make  them  better. 
Would  to  God,  that  those  intrusted  with  the  dis 
pensation  of  law,  might  realize  the  extent  of  joy  or 
sorrow,  good  or  evil,  that  must  flow  from  an  exer 
cise  of  their  prerogatives.  Acting  under  a  full,  ade 
quate  sense  of  their  responsibilities  in  this  respect, 
they  would  lay  the  foundations  of  a  fame,  which 


204  EFFECTS    OF   A    VICE. 

time  could  not  impair,  or  marble  monuments  prolong, 
Their  memorial  would  be  the  transmitted  happiness 
of  millions. 

Though  the  consequences  of  a  ruined  virtue  in 
the  other  sex,  may  be  more  immediately  disastrous, 
than  in  our  own  ;  yet  in  the  latter  case,  they  are  of 
a  most  destructive  character.  They  benumb  and 
destroy  all  the  finer  sensibilities  of  the  soul.  They 
convert  the  heart  into  a  grave,  in  which  its  delicate 
emotions  lie  blighted  and  dead.  The  soft  being 
that  could  once  move  and  melt  it  by  the  moral 
charm,  which  rested  on  her  beauty,  cannot  now 
quicken  its  perished  sympathy. 

Purity  is  not  only  indispensable  to  the  more  refi 
ned  susceptibilities  of  our  nature,  but  also  to  that 
quietude  of  conscience,  which  is  the  sunshine  of  the 
soul.  I  envy  not  that  man  his  dreams,  who  seeks  his 
pillowed  repose,  while  he  has  left  another  to  blush 
and  to  weep.  He  may  indeed  be  callous  to  his  crime 
— and  for  a  time  slumber  on  in  his  remorseless 
guilt,  but  his  hour  of  sorrow  and  shame  will  inev 
itably  come ;  nor  will  its  anguish  and  bitterness  be 
mitigated  by  its  delay.  If  there  be  pangs  which 
strike  deeper  into  the  soul,  they  must  be  his  portion, 
who  has  betrayed  the  confiding,  and  ruined  the  inno 
cent,  who  promised  only  to  deceive,  and  cherish 
ed  only  to  destroy.  Nor  is  purchased,  advised,  and 
consenting  criminality,  without  its  fearful  penalties. 
A  man  who  yields  himself  to  vice,  even  in  this  form, 


TRAITS    OF    THE    MAHONEES.  205 

nourishes  a  plant,  whose  fruit  will  be  wormwood 
and  gall : 

And  partake  of  this  fruit,  though  he  loathe,  yet  he  must,  • 
Till  the  world  has  his  shame,  and  the  grave  has  his  dust. 

But  I  was  speaking  of  Mahon.  There  is  another 
feature  in  the  population  of  this  place  which  betrays 
their  kindly  dispositions.  Sailors  here  are  allowed 
to  go  upon  shore  on  leave, — and  on  such  occasions, 
they  are  apt  to  float  widely  from  salutary  restraint. 
They  make  merry,  pass  round  their  social  circles 
the  wild  glass  ;  promenade  the  streets,  break  out  in 
the  jovial  song,  or  address  the  passers  by  with  as 
much  familiarity,  as  if  they  were  all  shipmates,  on 
board  the  same  craft,  and  bound  to  the  same  delight 
ful  haven.  Instead  of  resenting  this  freedom,  or 
construing  it  into  insolence,  I  have  seen  the  most 
respectable  citizen  take  the  proffered  hand  of  Jack, 
wish  him  a  prosperous  voyage,  and  a  happy  home 
wherever  it  might  be.  How  different  this  from  the 
treatment  which  the  unceremonious  Tar  would  meet 
with  in  one  of  our  cities  ! — He  would  probably  be 
knocked  down,  or  at  least,  thrust  aside,  with  a  re 
buking  severity.  Not  so  here  :—  if  too  merry,  it  is 
excused;  if  impertinent,  the  best  construction  is 
placed  upon  it :  if  unfortunately  out  of  his  reckon 
ing,  he  is  taken  within  doors,  till  his  senses  and  his 
gratitude  return.  I  do  admire,  beyond  the  power 
of  language  to  convey,  this  kind,  forbearing  and 
hospitable  disposition.  I  would  not  exchange  the 
18 


206  AMUSEMENTS. 

feelings  and  reflections  of  such  an  individual,  for 
all  the  importance,  which  wealth  and  power  can  be 
stow.  The  consciousness  of  having  restored  the 
wandering,  and  relieved  the  distressed,  will  com 
mend  the  dying  man  to  the  grateful  remembrance 
of  his  fellow  beings,  and  even  the  mercy  of  his  final 
Judge. 

The  amusements  usually  indulged  in  here,  are 
the  opera,  the  masquerade,  music,  and  dancing. 
Among  these,  the  officers  of  our  navy  are  prone  to 
while  off  some  of  their  long  winter  evenings.  They 
are  seldom  carried  to  excess ;  they  are  occasional 
escapes  from  the  tedium  vitae  incident  to  winter 
quarters,  and  are  secured,  in  a  measure,  from 
abuse,  by  the  mediocrity  of  their  splendor  and  attrac 
tion.  Entertainments  of  this  character  to  possess 
an  enduring  interest,  even  for  the  gayest  heart, 
must  be  sustained  by  an  expense  incompatible  with 
the  restricted  resources  of  Mahon.  How  an  intelli 
gent  community  can  be  fervently  devoted  to  objects 
of  this  nature,  and  find  in  them  their  principal 
excitements,  is  to  me  inconceivable.  I  would  much 
sooner  sit  down  in  a  chimney  corner,  with  some 
scarred  veteran  of  the  field,  who  has  survived  the 
continental  wars,  and  listen  to  his  tale  of  conflict, 
rout,  or  victory ;  or  with  some  old  sailor,  who  has 
unfurled  his  canvas  in  each  sea  and  clime,  and 
whose  thoughts  run  on  the  breeze,  the  gale,  or 
wreck;  or  with  some  prying  antiquary,  who  has 


THE  SAILOR'S  TASTE.  207 

sifted  the  dust  of  a  perished  city  to  find  an  unintel 
ligible  coin ;  or  most  especially  with  some  village 
m  ate  unseared  by  the  world, — 

Whose  thoughts  run  warmly  back  to  early  childhood ; — 

The  airy  swing,  the  nested  bower,  the  wild  wood, — 

The  stream,  the  darting  trout,  the  little  boat, 

With  mimic  guns  and  mariners  afloat ; 

The  bounding  ball,  the  balance  on  the  rail, 

The  dog  that  watched  the  sport,  and  wagged  his  tail; — 

A  sisters  bird  that  came  at  break  of  day, 

Paroled  its  merry  song  and.flew  away. 

The  entertainment  of  the  opera  is  too  refined  for 
the  rude  taste  of  the  sailor.  A  company  of  fifty  or 
sixty  were  permitted,  not  long  since,  to  attend  one 
of  these  musical  performances.  They  cheerfully 
paid  the  highest  price  for  their  tickets,  and  took 
their  seats,  expecting  a  rich  treat.  But  it  was  soon 
evident  that  they  had  mistaken  their  port.  You 
might  see  them  glancing  about,  for  a  moment  when 
they  would  be  less  observed,  and  then  skipping  out, 
as  one  escapes  from  the  presence  of  a  person  whom 
he  would  not  offend,  and  yet  in  whom  he  takes  no 
interest.  In  less  than  an  hour,  they  all  disappeared. 
In  the  porch  and  court,  some  of  them  ventured  their 
criticisms  on  the  performance.  "  Did  you  ever  hear 
such  singing  as  that  ?"  said  Jack,  "  such  backing 
and  filling — such  veering  and  hauling — such  puf 
fing  and  screaming — there  is  as  much  music  in  a 
boatswain's  whistle ! — and  then  the  language — such 
a  jingling  jargon — such  a  hanging  on,  and  spinning 
out,  in  each  word— it  had  no  more  meaning  in  it  than 
the  sound  of  the  water  behind  a  ship's  keel."  So 


208 

they  agreed  to  put  up  the  helm ;  and  striking  up 
one  of  their  old  nautical  songs,  steered  by  many 
ambiguous  tacks,  for  the  ship. 

But  the  theatre  in  the  tragic  or  comic  seldom  fails 
to  affect  or  amuse  this  singular  class  of  men.  A  num 
ber  of  them  went  to  see  Othello  acted  ;  they  detected 
at  once  the  diabolical  deceit  of  lago,  and  muttered 
their  indignation.  They  became  at  length  so  ab 
sorbed  in  the  performance,  especially  in  the  charac 
ter  and  fate  of  Desdemona,  that  when  the  jealous 
Moor  came  out  to  murder  her  in  her  sleep,  they  in 
stantly  sprang  upon  the  stage,  crying  out  "  avast 
there,  you  black,  bloody  rascal ;"  and  were  in  the 
act  of  seizing  him,  when  the  curtain  dropped,  amid 
confusion  and  applause.  This  incident  did  not  oc 
cur  here,  or  under  my  observation ;  but  the  anec 
dote  was  related  to  me  by  an  eye  witness.  It  dis 
closes  striking  traits  in  the  character  of  the  sailor — 
his  credulous  propensity — his  quick  arid  deep  sus 
ceptibility — his  electrical  promptitude  in  rescuing 
the  helpless.  He  would  throw  away  forty  lives  to 
protect  an  innocent  being,  and  even  an  enemy  he 
scorns  to  injure,  when  taken  at  a  disadvantage. 

There  is  here,  however,  one  source  of  entertain 
ment — if  that  term  may  be  applied  to  anything  be 
longing  to  the  sanctuary — which  must  ever  arrest 
the  most  careless  ear,  and  which,  though  it  make 
man  no  better,  it  surely  cannot  make  him  worse. 
It  is  the  splendid  organ  of  the  cathedral,  I  could 


ORGAN    AT"  MAHON.  209 

cheerfully  sit  on  the  cold  pavement  of  that  church, 
and  listen  to  it  till  the  highest  candle  that  ever  lit 
the  shrine  of  the  blessed  Virgin  flickered  in  its  socket. 
In  compass,  power,  and  richness  of  melody,  it  is 
said  to  have  no  competitors,  except  one  in  Haar 
lem,  and  one  in  Catania.  Almost  every  musical 
instrument  is  here  represented,  and  so  closely  do 
some  of  its  tones  resemble  the  human  voice,  that 
when  it  was  first  set  up,  many  of  the  audience,  in 
their  sudden  wonder,  rushed  out  of  the  cathedral. 

From  the  solemn  and  stately  anthem,  it  passes 
with  melodious  dignity  and  ease,  through  all  the 
varied  expressions  of  the  dramatic  chorus,  to  the 
national  ode,  the  capricious  song,  the  vanishing  air. 
At  one  time  it  astounds  and  overwhelms  you  with  a 
burst  of  thunder ;  you  involuntarily  look  up,  and 
expect  to  find  the  bolted  cloud  blackening  over 
your  head ;  and  then  again  in  the  terminating 
range  of  its  matchless  transitions,  you  imagine  your 
self  listening  to  the  dying  strains  of  an  aeolian  harp, 
I  could  not  accuse  Lord  Exmouth  of  a  foolish  pro 
digality,  in  his  offer  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars 
for  this  noble  instrument.  But  it  was  not  thus  to 
be  obtained.  An  Arab  arid  his  barb,  a  devotee  and 
the  auxiliaries  of  his  devotion,  are  seldom  parted. 
But  it  needs  not  pride  or  superstition,  to  make  one 
unwilling  to  part  with  such  a  treasure  as  this.  I 
would  almost  as  soon  relinquish  some  inborn  source 
of  happiness  and  hope. 

18* 


210  FESTIVE    GREETINGS. 

We  were  concerned  on  reaching  this  port  to 
learn  that  the  health  of  Commodore  Diddle  had  not 
improved  since  our  last  advices.  The  duties  of  his 
station,  as  commander-in-chief  of  the  squadron,  re 
quire  a  degree  of  physical  activity  and  energy,  which 
it  is  difficult  to  dispense  with,  even  where,  as  in  his 
case,  there  is  found  great  elasticity  and  vigor  of 
mind.  But  though  oppressed  with  these  outward 
disabilities,  he  is  not  unmindful  or  negligent  of  the 
interests  confided  to  his  care  ;  for  we  had  scarcely 
let  go  our  anchor,  when  an  order  came  for  us  to  get 
ready  to  proceed  to  sea,  with  all  despatch.  In  the 
mean  time,  he  honored  us  with  an  entertainment, 
where  the  choicest  luxuries  and  delicacies  of  the 
island  were  served,  and  where  the  light  and  terse 
remark  went  sparkling  round,  accompanied  by 
many  endearing  recollections  of  home.  There  was 
at  this  table  dignity  without  reserve,  and  ease  with 
out  a  gregarian  license  ;  —  there  was  also  an  una- 
bused  Idomeneusan  privilege,  extended  to  each 
guest,  such  as  Homer  thought  not  beneath  the 
melody  of  his  muse  :  — 


CJOTTCjO 

The  compliment  of  this  dinner  was  handsomely 
returned  by  Capt.  and  Mrs.  Read,  who  well  under. 
stand  how  to  impart  interest  and  pleasure  to  such 
occasions.  I  can  never  leave  one  of  these  entertain 
ments,  without  a  boding  thought  of  the  time,  when 


PARTING    THOUGHTS.  211 

these  interchanges  of  sentiment  will  be  intercepted, 
the  gratulations  of  friendship  cease,  and  this  breath 
ing  frame,  inanimate  and  cold,  be  laid  in  its  last  sad 
receptacle,  to  mingle  as  it  may  with  its  native  dust. 
The  slight  memorials  that  may  remain,  and  the  few 
who  may  remember  and  grieve,  must  soon  follow ; 
while  the  thronging  multitudes  of  earth  will  move 
on,  indifferent  to  what  is  gone,  as  the  mighty  forest 
to  the  silent  lapse  of  a  solitary  leaf.  Then  what  is 
life !  and  what  its  pursuit ! 

"  An  idle  chase  of  hopes  and  fears, 
Begun  in  folly,  closed  in  tears !" 


CHAPTER   XYIII. 

Passage  from  Mahon  to  Naples — Life  at  Sea — Chest  of  a  Sailor — 
Power  of  a  Poet — Track  of  the  Ship — Naples  from  the  Harbor 
— Unreasonable  Quarantine — Grievious  Disappointment — Prema 
ture  Departure — Ebulition  of  Spleen. 

THREE  days  since  we  weighed  anchor  from 
Mahon,  in  company  with  the  Brandywine,  bearing 
the  broad  pennant  of  Commodore  Biddle,  the  breeze 
has  been  extremely  light  and  baffling  ;  and  the  pas 
sage,  though  relieved  occasionally  by  an  interchange 
of  signals,  has  nevertheless  been  thus  far  unusually 
destitute  of  exciting  incidents.  No  bickering  ghost 
has  appeared  in  the  cock-pit,  or  on  shroud,  or  spar  ; 
no  mermaid  has  tuned  her  scallop-shell  on  the 
wave  or  rock ;  no  water-spout  has  burst  in  deluge 
and  thunder  ;  no  sea-serpent  has  troughed  himself 
between  the  combing  billows  ;  indeed,  there  have 
been  no  billows  that  could  for  a  moment  shelter  this 
mysterious  monster  of  the  deep — whose  sworn  exist 
ence  has  been  a  greater  source  of  curiosity  and 
wonder,  than  were  all  the  discoveries  of  Columbus. 
Where  was  it  that  he  was  last  seen  ?  Ay,  I  recollect ; 
it  was  in  the  polar  seas,  where  he  was  trying  to  split 
up  an  iceberg  with  his  tail.  Every  stroke  was  fol 
lowed  by  flashes  of  fire  that  lit  the  whole  heaven, 


PASSAGE    TO   NAPLES.  213 

and  were  taken  by  those  living  near  the  line,  as  the 
most  splendid  and  extraordinary  exhibitions  of  the 
aurora-borealis.  Every  astronomer  through  our 
land  had  his  instruments  newly  cleaned,  and  watch 
ed  the  burning  phenomena,  predicting  not  only  that 
the  north  passage  would  be  reduced  to  one  vast  lake  of 
fire,  but  that  the  north  star,  set  in  conflagration  and 
motion  at  the  same  time,  would  rush  this  way  for  a 
cooler  atmosphere,  and  coming  in  contact  with  the 
earth,  reduce  the  whole  to  ashes  !  It  is  astonishing 
what  this  sea-serpent  may  do  with  a  few  stokes  of 
his  tail !  But  I  was  speaking  of  the  calm  and  slow 
progress  we  were  making  towards  Naples. 

The  sea  has  scarcely  afforded  a  wave  that  would 
have  dangerously  rocked  a  log  canoe ;  but  then  as 
a  negative  compensation  for  this  delaying  calmness, 
We  have  not  had  that  ceaseless  surging  motion, 
which  afflicts  the  Atlantic,  and  which  sickens  a 
ship,  without  helping  her  onward.  We  have  had 
the  bursting  splendors  of  a  sun,  wheeling  up  in 
resistless  energy  from  a  crimsoning  waste  of  waters, 
that  still  slumbered  and  slept.  We  have  had 
the  soft  beauty  of  twilight,  mingling  its  purple 
charm  with  the  rosy  depths  of  sea  and  sky ;  we  have 
had,  through  the  early  watch,  the  song  of  the  mari 
ner,  breathing  in  unpolished  numbers  a  patriotic 
fervor,  that  will  kindle  on  when  all  the  set  forms  of 
speech  are  cold  and  forgotten  ;  we  have  had  also  the 
frequent  cloud,  which,  though  it  often  disappointed 


214  TRAITS    OF   THE    SAILOR. 

us  in  its  apparent  promise  of  a  breeze,  yet  reminded 
us  in  the  evanescent  nature  of  its  own  being,  that 
the  life  of  man  itself  is  only  a  "  vapor,  that  appeareth 
for  a  little  time,  and  then  variisheth  away." 

Would  that  these  delicate  admonitions  in  nature 
might  never  pass  unimproved.  But  few  things, 
even  of  the  highest  moment,  produce  a  permanent 
effect  on  the  mind  of  the  sailor.  Even  the  gale  and 
wreck  are  half  forgotten,  if  they  but  leave  him  a 
good  plank  upon  which  he  may  reach  the  distant 
shore.  He  knows  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth, 
yet  hymns  his  jocund  song,  and  sleeps  soundly 
every  night  with  but  a  plank  between  him  and  a 
fathomless  grave.  Yet  he  is  not  incapable  of  being 
moved,  strongly  moved  on  subjects  of  a  religious  cha 
racter.  His  heart  is  not  the  impervious  rock,  it  more 
resembles  the  element  on  which  he  moves,  and  like 
that,  loses  the  impressions  it  may  receive.  He  will 
listen  to  a  sermon  with  an  attention  that  might  be  a 
model  to  any  congregation  of  Christians,  and  then 
within  one  hour,  if  some  new  impulse  strikes  him, 
he  is  off  perhaps  on  another  tack.  He  respects  reli 
gion  and  its  consistent  professors ;  the  good  man  has 
always  his  confidence  and  esteem. 

The  Bible  is  with  him — what  it  ought  to  be 
with  every  person — the  book  of  books.  Yet  I  have 
seen  him  take  this  blessed  volume  from  his  clothes- 
bag,  leaving  there  close  to  where  it  lay  a  grape- 
shot  attached  to  a  strong  lanyard,  with  which  ho 


TRAITS    OF    THE    SAILOR.  215 

will  perhaps,  the  next  time  he  goes  ashore,  knock 
over  a  dozen  insolent  Goliaths.  Observing  a  sailor 
one  day  overhauling  his  effects,  I  inquired,  "  Where 
Smith,  are  those  tracts  I  gave  you  the  other  day?" 
"  Here  they  are,"  he  replied,  producing  them,  "  all  but 
that  one  on  stealing;  I  gave  that  to  Joe  Miller;  I  never 
steal  myself;  but  it  struck  him  exactly  between  wind 
and  water."  "  And  what  book  is  that,  stowed  away 
there,  Smith  ?"  I  inquired  again  ;  "  O  that  is  my 
Bible,"  he  replied,  lifting  it  up,  with  a  cordial  shake 
of  the  hand,  "  given  me  by  my  mother,  the  first  time 
I  went  to  sea,  when  I  was  only  a  youngster  ;  I  pro 
mised  her  I  would  read  it  every  Sunday  on  shore, 
and  every  day  when  out-sight  of  land.  You  see  I 
have  steered  as  close  to  my  promise  as  any  fellow 
can  with  squalls,  and  a  head  sea  knocking  him  off; 
but  I  hope  I  shall  yet  make  that  blessed  port,  where 
she  has  gone.  For  she  was  the  best  mother  that  ever 
had  such  a  wild  chap  of  a  son  as  I  have  been."  He 
had  evidently  been  pretty  true  to  his  word  ;  for 
the  traces  of  his  fingers  were  upon  nearly  every 
page  of  the  book,  while  the  leaves  of  the  more  his 
torical  parts  had  been  thumbled  over,  till  they  were 
scarcely  legible. 

"And  what  is  that  thing  stowed  away  down 
there,  Smith,  next  the  tracts?"  I  inquired.  "O 
sir,  that  is  a  gouger."  "  But  you  do  not  take  out 
a  man's  eyes,  I  hope  ?"  "  Not  unless  the  rascal  is 
after  mine,  and  then  I  blind  one  side  of  his  face ; 


216  LIFE    AT    SEA. 

but  I  always  leave  him  one  eye  standing."  "  Yes, 
but  you  take  away  the  other,  and  what  good  can 
that  do  you  ?"  "  Why,  sir,  he  will  have  one  the  less 
to  look  after  me  with  the  next  time."  I  persuaded 
him  at  last  to  throw  the  unseemly  thing  overboard ; 
but  it  will  probably  be  replaced  by  something  else, 
not  a  whit  the  less  objectionable.  Such  is  the  mix 
ture  of  shrewdness,  filial  regard,  higher  hopes,  and 
moral  obliquities,  which  enters  into  the  character  of 
the  sailor.  He  is  an  ocean  which  no  one  can  fath 
om,  unless  he  is  able  to  sound  the  lowest  depths  in 
human  nature. 

I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  somehow,  the  mo 
ment  I  get  on  the  deck  of  a  ship  and  am  out  at  sea, 
it  seems  as  if  I  had  suddenly  been  introduced  into 
some  element  rife  with  poetry.  If  any  thing  could 
reconcile  me  to  a  sea-life,  it  would  be  the  enjoyment 
of  this  sentiment.  I  reverence  in  the  profoundest 
emotions  of  my  soul,  the  gifted  poet.  He  is  intel 
lectually,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  interesting  object 
in  the  world.  He  awakens  and  wields  at  will,  all 
the  finer  feelings  and  master  passions  of  our  nature. 
His  art  is  of  a  far  higher  and  more  effective  or 
der  than  that  of  the  sculptor  or  painter.  He  not 
only  represents,  but  he  imparts  life ;  and  this,  no 
one  can  so  thoroughly  effect  with  the  pencil  or 
chisel. 

We  may,  to  some  extent  animate  the  canvas 
with  the  features  of  one  we  love  ; — we  fnay  cast 


POWER   OF   THE   POET.  217 

upon  the  changeless  brow,  the  calm  sunshine  of  her 
gentle  nature  ; — we  may  elicit  from  the  expressive 
eye,  the  speechless  tenderness  of  a  confiding  affec 
tion  ; — we  may  curl  around  the  lip  the  smiling 
pledges  of  reciprocal  fondness  j — we  may  spread  be 
hind  her  glowing  cheek,  the  richness  of  her  flowing 
tresses ; — we  may  cast  around  the  symmetry  of  her 
form,  the  softness  of  her  'graceful  drapery  ; — and  we 
may  give  her  the  air  in  which  romantic  devotion 
ever  beholds  the  angel  of  its  vows.  We  may  repre 
sent,  near  at  hand,  the  favorite  glen  in  which  she 
strayed — the  moon-lit  arbor  in  which  she  sung — 
the  silvery  lake  on  which  she  sailed.  We  may  look 
on  this  representation  of  life  and  nature,  and  deem  it 
reality.  We  may  gaze  till  bewildered  sense  reels  in 
rapture.  But  look  again — the  floating  vision  be 
comes  more  calm — the  associations  less  vivid — the 
emotions  in  our  breast  subside.  But  look  again — 
here  and  there  a  new  shade  may  be  developed,  here 
and  there  an  unfamiliar  expression  be  caught.  But 
look  again — it  is  what  you  have  seen  before — it  is 
a  mass  of  changeless,  pulseless  shadows  ! 

But  give  this  glowing  subject  to  the  poet,  surren 
der  it  to  the  magic  of  his  genius — the  changeless 
object  lives — the  motionless  object  moves — the 
silent  object  speaks.  The  heart,  where  quenched 
existence  had  its  grave,  is  kindled — and  renovated 
life  gleams  through  its  shroud,  as  the  warm  sun, 
through  its  light  vesture  of  clouds.  The  fount  of 
19 


218  POWER   OF   THE    POET. 

feeling  is  stirred,  and  its  currents  come  forth,  fresh 
as  the  overflowings  of  a  spring,  when  it  melts  away 
the  icy  fetters  of  winter.  The  features  lose  their 
fixed  expression,  and-are  radiant  with  a  bright  train 
of  passing  thoughts,  and  glad  imaginings.  Hope  is 
there,  mingling  its  colors  with  the  shades  of  doubt ; 
— confidence  is  there,  banishing  distrust ; — affection 
is  there,  lighting  up  adversity.  Every  feature  lives, 
every  look  tells.  We  not  only  see  the  glen,  but 
hear  the  soft  whispers  of  the  breeze,  the  mirthful 
voice  of  the  brook  ; — we  not  only  see  the  arbor,  but 
hear  the  echoes,  waking  from  their  slumbers,  repeat 
the  favorite  strain ; — we  not  only  see  the  lake,  but 
hear  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar,  and  the  soft 
murmur  of  the  breaking  wave.  Every  object  is 
animated,  and  lives  before  us  in  palpable  reality. 
We  may  gaze — and  turn  away — and  gaze  again — 
but  new  images,  new  sounds,  new  feelings,  and  new 
associations  crowd  upon  us  like  stars  on  the  steadfast 
vision  of  the  astronomer. 

Or  we  may  shape  the  marble  to  the  features  of 
the  man  we  venerate  ;  we  may  render  these  fea 
tures  radiant  with  the  qualities  of  his  mind  and 
heart  ;  we  may  make  the  ruling  passion  brightly 
apparent  upon  the  majestic  brow  ;  we  may  give 
the  countenance  that  peculiar  cast,  which  calls  up 
the  lofty,  and  the  tender  recollection  ;  and  we  may 
imagine  the  departed  sage  still  existent  and  before  us, 
in  undecaying  strength  ; — but  lay  our  hand  on  this 


FRESH    BREEZE.  219 

faultless  resemblance — the  clay  of  the  grave  is  not 
colder — it  is  death  with  its  icy  chill ! 

But  commit  this  departed  saint  to  the  gifted 
spirit  of  the  poet — the  veil  of  the  grave  is  rent — 
the  silent  sleeper  called  up  from  the  couch  of  cor 
ruption,  and  dressed  in  the  garments  of  immortality. 
His  actions  are  grouped  around  him,  in  the  bright 
ness  of  their  first  appearance  ; — his  feelings  recalled 
in  the  freshness  of  their  infancy ; — his  secret  mo 
tives  are  revealed  in  the  purity  with  which  they 
were  conceived ; — and  his  generous  purposes,  which 
perished  in  the  bud,  revived  and  expanded  into 
fragrant  life.  You  see  the  whole  man,  not  in  cold 

O  ' 

marble,  not  in  awful  abstraction  from  his  fellow 
beings — but  within  the  warm  precincts  of  friendship, 
love,  and  veneration,  invested  with  the  sympathies 
and  attributes  of  real  existence.  Such  is  the  power 
of  the  poet — such  his  mastery  over  life  and  death  ! 
He  stands,  prophet  like,  over  a  vast  ocean  of  thought, 
passion,  and  sympathy,  that  heaves  and  rolls  at  the 
stroke  of  his  wand. 

The  breeze  for  which  we  have  been  long  and 
anxiously  looking  has  come  at  last.  It  is  light,  but 
fair,  and  promises  to  take  us  to  our  port ;  for  before 
this  watch  goes  out  we  are  expecting  to  hear  the 
cry  of  "  land"  from  mast-head.  Another  break  in 
my  journal. 

It  is  now  one  of  those  soft  and  brilliant  days, 
which  are  no  strangers  to  the  clime  of  Italy ;  and 


220  NAPLES    FROM    THE    HARBOR. 

our  ships,  under  a  light,  easy  sail,  are  passing  up  the 
splendid  bay  of  Naples.  This  bay  circles  up  bold 
and  beautiful  into  the  land;  where  it  lies  quietly 
embosomed  within  a  sweeping  range  of  green  and 
picturesque  elevations.  The  city,  from  the  shelving 
shore,  ascends  majestically  this  amphitheatre  of 
hills,  presenting  at  a  glance  its  palaces,  domes,  tem 
ples,  and  towers,  with  all  the  fresher  luxuries  of  the 
garden  and  the  grove.  More  remote,  and  towering 
far  above  all,  stands  Vesuvius — a  magnificent 
"  pillar  of  cloud  by  day,  and  of  fire  by  night."  All 
the  nobler  elements, — earth,  air,  flame  and  flood, — 
have  mingled  the  romance  of  their  richest  triumphs, 
above,  beneath,  and  around,  Naples.  And  then,  as 
if  to  excite  the  last  degree  of  admiring  wonder  and 
awaken  an  insatiable  curiosity,  the  veil  of  centuries 
has  been  rent,  and  the  embalmed  remains  of  a  Her- 
culaneum  and  Pompeii  brought  up  from  their  long 
mysterious  repose  !  Thus  the  present  and  the  past, 
the  charms  of  the  living  and  the  hallowed  beauty  of 
the  dead  move  before  us,  in  the  centre  of  a  scene 
that  might  of  itself  almost  induce  an  angel  to  pause 
on  his  earnest  commission. 

But  it  is  our  privilege  only  to  look  and  admire  ; 
for  all  communication  with  the  shore  has  been  cut 
off  by  the  imposition  of  a  quarantine  ;  though  there 
is  not  the  slightest  disease,  or  scarcely  a  case  of  indis 
position  on  board  ;  nor  have  we  been  where  it  was 
possible  for  us  to  reach  any  exposure.  There  would 


NAPLES    FROM   THE    HARBOR.  221 

have  been  as  much  sense  in  Adam's  quarantining 
Eve,  when  he  saw  her  first  come  in  blushing  beauty 
to  his  bower.  And  I  have  no  doubt,  that  our  fair 
mother  would  have  borne  the  restrictions,  had  our 
noble  progenitor  unaccountably  imposed  them, 
with  vastly  more  good  nature,  than  it  is  possible  for 
us  to  muster  on  this  occasion. 

Our  quarantine  is  for  seven  days  ;  but  before  we 
can  ride  it  out,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  leave  for  the  Le 
vant  !  This  is  a  draft  on  a  man's  resignation,  heavy 
enough  to  shake  the  self-complacent  credit  of  any 
Christian  or  philosopher.  Here  we  lie,  only  a  few 
cables'  length  from  the  shore,  seeing  the  picturesque 
multitude  passing  on  their  unknown  errands — the 
pleasure  party  floating  oft'  for  some  rural  retreat,  in 
gaiety  and  glee — the  monarch  and  his  court  moving 
with  all  the  ensigns  of  royalty — the  wandering  mins 
trel  tuning  his  reed,  and  turning  even  his  sorrows  into 
melody — hearing  through  the  long  evening  the  loud 
cheers  of  some  festive  hearts — or  the  bursting 
chorus  of  St.  Carlos,  as  it  comes  wafted  on  the 
wind  ;  while  the  frequented  gardens  gleam  with  the 
radiance  of  their  countless  lights,  arid  the  flame  of 
Vesuvius  fringes  with  fire  the  wings  of  the  passing 
cloud.  All  these  are  to  be  left  unrealized — unap- 
proached!  and  this,  too,  in  compliance  with  the 
mockeries  of  a  senseless  quarantine !  But  this 
scene  so  bright,  so  gay,  and  seemingly  so  full  of  hap 
piness  is  all  an  illusion — a  fleeting  phantom.  It  is  a 
19* 


222  THE   WORLD. 

flower  that  springs  from  corruption  ; — a  laughter  at 
the  grave. 

How  darkly  changed  this  world  since  that  first  hour, 
When  o'er  its  brightness  sung  the  morning  stars  : 

Time,  death,  and  sin,  and  sorrow  had  no  power 
Upon  its  beauty  :  man,  who  madly  mars 

His  Maker's  works,  has  swept  it  with  a  flood 

Of  tears  and  groans,  and  deluged  it  with  blood. 

It  has  become  a  Golgotha,  where  lie 
The  bleaching  bones  of  nations ;  every  wave 

Breaks  on  a  shore  of  skulls ;  and  every  sigh 
The  low  wind  murmurs  forth,  seems  as  it  gave 

This  mournful  tribute,  unobserved  and  deep, 

To  millions— for  whom  man  has  ceased  to  weep. 

It  is  a  dim  and  shadowy  sepulchre, 
In  which  the  dying  and  the  dead  become 

The  hearse  of  all  the  living;  yet  the  stir 
And  sting  of  serpent-passion,  and  the  hum 

Of  jocund  life  survive,  with  but  a  breath 

Between  this  reckless  revelry  and  death. 

It  is  a  rolling  tomb,  rumbling  along, 

In  gloom  and  darkness,  through  the  shud'ring  spheres  ; 
And  filled  with  death  and  life,  and  wail  and  song, 

Laughter  and  agony,  and  jests  and  tears ; 
And— save  its  heartless  mirth,  and  ceaseless  knell — 
Wearing  a  ghastly  glimmering  type  of  hell ! 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Passage  from  Naples  to  Messina— Volcano  of  Stromboli— Dead  Calms 
— Utility  of  Whales— Pastimes  in  Calms — Faro  di  Messina-- Charib- 
dis  and  Scylla— Ancient  Whirlpool— Curiosities  of  the  sea— Ter 
rors  of  Homer's  Muse — Messina  from  the  Strait. 

OUR  anchor  was  again  weighed,  our  lighter  sails 
unfurled,  and  swinging  round  near  the  Brandywine, 
we  received  the  parting  benediction  of  three  cheers; 
which  were  returned,  more  in  sadness  than  mirth. 
All  our  canvas  was  soon  spread  to  a  light  breeze, 
which  began  to  prevail  from  the  north-east,  and 
passing  out  the  ample  bay,  we  held  our  course  along 
the  soft  shores  of  Italy,  for  the  straits  of  Messina. 
We  met  with  no  objects  calculated  to  leave  a  distinct 
and  abiding  impression,  till  we  reached  the  lofty 
steeps  of  Stromboli.  We  passed  the  burning  mount 
of  this  lonely  island  in  the  night ;  it  was  still  kind 
ling  its  magnificent  watch-fire  in  the  sky.  It  has 
been  termed  with  significant  propriety  the  light 
house  of  the  Mediterranean.  How  triumphant  is 
nature,  in  all  her  works,  over  the  achievements  of 
man  !  He  lights  his  anxious  beacon  on  the  verge 
of  some  troubled  coast,  and  by  unremitted  watchings 
is  able  perhaps,  for  a  little  time,  to  sustain  its  poor 


224  CALM    AT    SEA. 

perishing  ray.  But  nature,  at  once,  without  an 
effort,  kindles  up  a  beacon-flame,  that  lights  an 
ocean,  and  burns  on  through  ages  undimmed  and 
unexhausted.  The  tempest  may  prevail  above,  the 
earthquake  rock  beneath,  navies  sink,  and  nations 
perish,  but  this  flame  burns  on  with  a  serene  and 
lofty  splendor — quenchless  as  the  light  of  the 
sun. 

We  are  again  in  a  dead  calm — like  a  politician 
in  disgrace  ;  but  the  misfortune  is,  we  have  not  his 
facilities  for  getting  out  of  it.  He  has  only  to  go 
over  to  the  other  party,  and  his  very  blots  become 
honorable  scars.  It  requires,  to  be  sure,  a  little  flex 
ibility  of  conscience ;  but  what  a  fool  a  man  is,  to 
be  sticking  to  principles,  when  office,  honor  and 
wealth  lie  in  a  different  quarter.  It  is  like  keeping 
"  Poor  Julia's  Ring,"  and  watering  the  flowers  at  her 
grave,  when  living  damsels  with  their  beauty  and 
their  bowers  invite  one  away.  Remembrance  can 
not  bring  back  to  life  the  one  that  has  perished  from 
our  bosom  ;  nor  can  fidelity  to  principles  that  have 
become  unpopular,  reinstate  them  in  the  humor  of 
the  age.  The  better  way  is  to  leave  them  to  their 
fate,  and  take  after  those  where  something  may  be 
got  besides  the  stale  credit  of  believing  this  year 
what  we  did  last.  It  shows  no  march  of  mind.  It 
is  merely  repeating  the  past ;  it  is  chasing  the  rain 
bow  in  our  gray  hairs,  because  we  did  it  in  the 
sunny  locks  of  childhood.  Is  the  nurse's  tale  of  the 


CALM    AT    SEA.  225 

silver  spoons  always  to  be  believed?  No,  the  bet 
ter  way  is,  for  a  man  to  change  his  creed  and  his 
character  too,  when  the  times  require.  A  coat  that 
is  often  turned,  will  out-wear  ten  that  never  under 
go  this  revolution  ;  and  what  is  more,  it  will  never 
be  rusty.  It  may  have  in  the  end  a  variety  of 
colors, — but  so  has  the  peacock,  and  who  thinks  the 
less  of  that  bird  for  the  numberless  dyes,  which 
sprinkle  the  beautiful  spread  of  its  tail  ?  But  what 
have  peacocks  and  politicians  to  do  with  our  getting 
to  the  Levant  ? 

We  are  still  in  this  dead  calm.  I  wonder  that 
in  this  age  of  moon-touching  baloons,  steam-shav 
ing  machines,  and  patents  for  prolonging  life,  it  has 
never  occurred  to  any  one  that  the  whale  may 
be  turned  to  a  most  excellent  account.  I  allude  not 
to  his  blubber — I  leave  that  to  poets  and  all  who 
burn  the  mid-night  taper  ; — I  refer  to  his  strength — 
his  power  of  going  ahead.  Just  catch  about  forty 
of  these  fellows — by  some  process  similar  to  that 
used  in  catching  the  wild  horse  of  our  prairies — 
and  harness  them — two  abreast,  to  a  rnan-of-war — 
with  a  taught  rein  in  the  hand  of  father  Neptune,  who 
I  have  no  doubt  could  be  procured  as  postillion,  and 
then  good-bye  to  your  steam,  though  it  have  a  mil 
lion  horse  power,  and  a  thunder-cloud  for  its  safety- 
valve  !  I  intend  applying  to  congress  for  funds  to 
make  the  experiment,  or  at  least  for  some  special 
privileges  on  the  subject.  But  the  difficulty  would 


226  CALM  AT  SEA; 

be,  if  that  body  were  to  get  upon  a  discussion  of  its 
merits,  the  Nantncket  boys,  seeing  that  in  the  event 
of  my  success,  "  Othello's  profession  is  gone,"  would 
harpoon  every  whale  before  congress  had  finished 
their  speeches,  or  I  had  obtained  my  patent.  I  must 
therefore  hit  upon  some  expedient  that  may  expe 
dite  the  delivery  of  these  speeches.  The  thought 
strikes  me : — 

To  save  at  once  this  fatal  waste  of  time, 
I'll  get  a  gun  that  works  by  fare  and  steam ; 

And  then  let  every  member  load  and  prime, 
With  all  the  speeches  he  can  write  or  dream  ; 

For  Perkins  being  right,  this  patent  power, 
Will  shoot  off  ninety  thousand  in  an  hour. 

The  steep  rocks  of  Stromboli  are  still  in  sight ; 
when  they  will  sink  in  the  distance,  I  know  not ; 
we  have  not  logged  a  fathom  for  several  watches ; 
our  sails  hang  idly  against  the  mast;  our  dog-vane 
has  gone  to  sleep  ;  we  are  in  a  motionless  calm. 

No  breath  from  mountain,  cloud,  or  cavern  creeps 
Along  the  water's  hushed  expanse;  the  wave, 

Unbroken  in  its  tranquil  aspect,  sleeps 
Serene  as  Beauty  in  her  sunless  grave; 

Nor  moves  a  tide,  unless  its  silent  flow 

Be  through  the  caves  and  coral  halls  below. 

Sated  with  gazing  on  this  sleeping  sea, 

Some  seek  their  lines  and  set  themselves  to  angling; 

Some  take  to  p'olitics,  and  being  free 
Of  fact,  and  full  of  feeling,  fall  to  wrangling; 

While  some,  wreckless  alike  of  soul  and  body,  j 
Practise  at  iisti-cuffs,  and  drink  their  toddy. 

While  others,  more  sedate,  lie  stretched  at  length, 
Yawning  on  coils  of  rope,  the  deck,  or  cot ; 

A  few  while  off  their  time  in  feats  of  strength  ; 
While  here  and  there  one,  restless  of  his  lot, 

Thinks  only  of  a  distant  eye  and  lip, 

And  rues  the  day  on  which  he  saw  a  ship. 


STRAITS    OF    MESSINA.  227 

Some  look  up  to  the  sky  and  watch  each  cloud, 

As  it  displays  its  faint  and  fleeting  form  ; 
Some  o'er  the  calm  begin  to  mutter  loud, 

And  swear  they  would  exchange  it  for  a  storm, 
Tornado,  any  thing — to  put  a  close 
To  this  most  dead,  monotonous  repose. 

What  if  that  oath  were  heard  ?  what  if  the  gale 
Rashly  invoked,  should  lift  the  surging  sea — 

This  noble  ship  be  swept  of  mast  and  sail, 
And  breakers  lift  their  voice  beneath  her  lee? 

Those  lips  might  only  breathe  the  strangling  tone 

Of  one  expiring  gasp  and  bubbling  groan. 

Death  is  a  fearful  thing,  come  how  it  may — 
Fearful  when  it  comes  on  like  some  repose, 

In  which  our  breath  and  being  ebb  away, 
As  music  to  its  mild,  melodious  close, 

And  where  no  parting  pangs  a  shadow  cast 

On  that  sweet  look,  tne  loveliest  and  the  last. 

Not  in  this  form  the  ship-wrecked  sailor  dies,— 

A  sudden  tempest,  or  a  latent  rock, 
And  on  the  gale  his  fluttering  canvas  flies, 

Or  down  he  sinks  in  one  engulfing  shock  ; 
While  through  the  closing  wave  ascends  the  prayer 
Of  one,  striking  his  strong  arms  in  despair. 

The  breeze  at  last  came,  and  Stromboli  sunk  in 
the  horizon. 

On  reaching  the  Straits — the  Faro  di  Messina 
— we  realized  but  few  of  those  obstructions  and 
perils,  which  so  threatened  and  impeded  the  navi 
gation  of  the  ancients.  It  is  true,  that  what  may 
have  carried  dismay  and  disaster  to  their  frail  gal- 
lies,  which  seldom  ventured  out  sight  of  land, 
may  be  perfectly  harmless  to  our  keeled  masses  of 
daring  and  conquering  strength.  But  still  it  is 
inconceivable  how  even  their  diminutive-  ships,  with 
their  double  banks  of  oars  and  muscular  arms  to 


228  CHARIBDIS    AND   SCYLLA. 

manage  them,  could  have  found  such  a  serious 
source  of  difficulty  and  apprehension.  The  man 
who  should  now,  like  the  hero  of  Virgil,  circumna 
vigate  the  island  of  Sicily,  to  escape  the  dangers  of 
these  straits,  would  be  an  object  of  merriment. 
But  Eneas  must  be  forgiven ;  he  not  only  fol 
lowed  the  warning  voice  of  an  oracle,  but  Palinu- 
rus,  his  pilot,  was  little  skilled  in  his  profession,  and 
had  also  an  unfortunate  tendency  to  slumber  on  his 
watch. 

The  oft  quoted  proverb,  which  so  briefly  dooms 
a  man  to  ruin,  turn  which  way  he  will — 

Incidit  in  Scyllam,  qui  vult  vitare  Charybdem, 

may  flourish  very  well  as  a  figure  of  speech,  in  a 
younker's  first  oratorical  display ;  but  it  has  no 
foundation  in  truth.  A  log-canoe,  paddled  with  a 
decent  degree  of  skill,  may  shun  Charibdis  without 
falling  upon  Scylla.  Yet  story  relates  how  enor 
mous  ships  have  been  dashed  to  fragments  upon  this 
mountain  rock ;  or  in  their  escape  of  this  disaster, 
have  fallen  within  the  sweep  of  the  opposite  whirl 
pool  ;  where,  after  being  carried  about,  in  helpless 
plight,  upon  the  absorbing  circle,  they  have  gone 
down  and  disappeared  forever.  If  there  be,  be 
neath  these  devouring  waters,  mermaids  of  taste  and 
a  piratical  conscience,  doubtless  their  fair  fingers  are 
now  adorned  with  many  a  jeweled  ring,  that  once 


TREASURES    OP    THE    OCEAN.  129 

flashed  on  the  hand  of  Grecian  beauty.  What 
mysteries  doth  not  the  sea  contain,  which  will  never 
be  unfolded,  or  even  conjectured  ! 

I  have  often  thought  that  of  all  revelations  in 
nature,  an  exhibition  of  the  secrets  of  the  sea,  would 
possess  the  most  thrilling  interest.  Were  I  permit 
ted  to  explore  but  one  untraversed  realm,  I  should 
prefer  that  vast  empire  of  curiosities,  which  lies 
within  and  beneath  the  ocean.  How  little  do  we  know 
of  it !  We  catch  a  luckless  fish  and  classify  it,  be 
cause  it  has  fins  like  something  which  we  have  seen 
before ;  we  draw  up  a  lobster,  and  because  he  has 
wide  claws,  determine  that  he  may  either  crawl  or 
swim ;  we  detach  a  bit  of  coral  from  its  low  mound 
or  tree,  and  because  it  has  cells,  decide  that  some  in 
sect-bee  of  the  water  must  have  formed  it :  or  we 
pick  up  a  few  shells,  which  the  returning  tide  has 
left  on  the  beach  as  unworthy  of  its  care,  and  be 
cause  they  are  not  found  on  the  roofs  of  our  houses, 
declare  them  most  rare  curiosities.  Thus  ends  our 
knowledge,  but  not  our  pride  and  prattle ;  for 
those  who  can  utter  the.  most  absurdities  about 
these  strange  things,  are  dubbed  philosophers  ;  and 
the  whole  world  is  expected  to  do  homage  to  the 
depth,  extent,  and  minuteness  of  their  learning. 
How  entirely  the  greatness  of  one  rests  on  the  igno 
rance  of  another :  strike  away  the  foundation  and 
the  fabric  falls. 

But  I  forget  the  straits  and  their  poetical  terrors. 
20 


230  WHIRLPOOL    OP    CHARYBDIS. 

Homer  describes  Scylla  as  a  steep  mass  of  rock, 
towering  so  near  the  sky  that  even  a  thin  cloud  can 
not  shove  itself  between,  without,  having  its  drapery 
raked  off;  when  in  truth  it  lias  scarcely  an  elevation 
of  two  hundred  feet,  with  a  little  fort  on  the  top, 
harmless  alike  to  the  bird  that  floats  above,  and  the 
ship  that  sails  beneath.  As  for  the  monsters,  which 
Virgil,  or  his  muse,  heard  howl  so  terrifically  around 
the  base  of  the  rock,  they  are  nothing  more  than 
the  echoes  of  the  waves  entering  rather  unceremo 
niously  a  few  low  caverns  ;  but  which  have  not  a 
fierceness  of  accent  sufficient  to  startle  a  young  duck 
from  its  slumber. 

The  whirlpool  of  Charybdis — from  whose  de 
vouring  vortex  Ulysses  escaped  alone  to  toll  the  tale  of 
his  lost  ship  and  perished  crew — exhibits  now  only 
a  broken  disquietude  of  wave,  without  even  a  uni 
formity  of  circle,  much  less  an  absorbing  centre. 
Brydone,  to  vindicate  the  nautical  skill  of  the  hero, 
and  the  sober  veracity  of  the  muse,  would  fain  make 
us  believe  that  a  deluge  of  rocks  has  been  carried 
into  this  vortex,  arid  that  thus  it  has  become  the 
tame  thing  we  now  see.  This  learned  sceptic  could 
not  yield  his  faith  to  the  reasonableness  of  the  Mo 
saic  history,  and  yet  conceives  that  rocks  may  float 
around  like  slabs,  and  finally  fill  up  a  pit,  which  was 
deemed  almost  bottomless!  How  admirably  the 
creed  of  a  man  may  adapt  itself  to  his  pride  and  pre 
judice  !  He  creates  a  world  from  accidents  to  sus- 


ASPECT    OF    MESSINA.  231 

tain  a  theory,  and  destroys  it  by  the  same  agency  to 
establish  a  conjecture  ! 

On  the  projecting  land,  to  which  Charybdis  is  a 
sort  of  threatening  out-post,  we  observed  a  scattered 
collection  of  dwellings,  the  appearance  of  which 
would  seem  to  intimate  that  the  fabled  horrors  of 
this  pass,  had  still  power  not  only  to  intimidate  the 
mariner,  but  even  to  drive  happiness  and  hope  from 
the  hearth  of  the  peasant.  But  I  do  not  wonder 
that  men  should  hesitate  to  build  there,  or  tremble 
over  an  hour's  delay  on  that  spot ;  for  it  was  here, 
that,  in  the  dreadful  earthquake  of  1783,  two  thou 
sand  perished.  The  waters  of  the  strait  were  vio 
lently  heaved  from  their  bed,  over  their  natural  boun 
dary,  arid  the  returning1  surge  left  but  here  and  there 
one,  even  to  weep  over  the  desolation. 

But  Messina,  as  we  glided  »slowly  up  to  it 
through  the  channel,  mainly  fixed  our  attention. 
It  lies  in  the  form  of  a  crescent,  sweeping  up  an 
easy  elevation  of  hills,  with  a  back-ground  of  bolder 
eminences,  and  the  clustering  depths  of  forest  shade. 
The  harbor  lies  deep  and  tranquil,  embosomed  with 
in  the  circling  shore  and  a  salient  reach  of  land, 
whose  falcated  form  stretches  nearly  round  it,  pro 
tecting  it  from  the  invading  currents  and  rushing 
surge  of  the  strait.  The  busy  aspect  of  the  quays, 
and  the  varied  flags  which  floated  above  the  an 
chored  craft,  showed  that  Messina  had  not  yet  lost 
its  consideration  in  the  commercial  world,  It  .has 


232  SICILY. 

been  the  most  unfortunate  of  cities.  The  earth 
quake  and  plague  have  alternately  made  it  their 
victims.  It  has  been  the  sad  arena,  where  through 
centuries  foreign  avarice  and  despotism  have 
played  their  bloody  game. 

How  fallen  is  Sicily !  once  the  garnery  of  Europe, 
now  almost  begging  her  bread ;  once  giving  laws 
to  nations,  now  the  veriest  slave  of  a  petty  prince  ; 
once  the  source  of  science  and  freedom,  now  with 
out  light  to  discover  her  own  rights,  or  courage  to 
maintain  them. 

Land  of  a  past  and  perished  greatness,  wake! 

Let  sire  and  son  now  draw  the  battle  glaive, 
Their  long-endured,  disgraceful  fetters  break, 

And  strongly  strike  for  freedom,  or  the  grave ; 
Swear  not  to  clank  the  chain,  to  blush  and  weep  • 
On  those  proud  hills,  in  which  their  fathers  sleepv 


CHAPTER   XX. 

Excursion  to  Mount  Etna — Sleeping  in  a  Corn-field— Incidents  of 
the  Ascent — Storm  at  Night— View  from  the  Summit— Descent 
— Catania— Gaiety  of  the  Living  above  the  Dead — Museum  of  the 
Prince  of  Biscari — Franciscan  Monk. 

WE  were  now  on  shore  at  Messina — not  to  sur 
vey  and  admire  its  monuments,  or  weep  over  its 
political  degradation.  We  were  chartering  two 
vehicles  of  sufficient  strength  to  take  us  to  the  foot 
of  Mount  Etna.  Some  of  my  companions  suggested 
the  propriety  of  first  visiting  the  cathedral,  as  the 
stately  columns  which  support  its  gilded  roof  once 
belonged  to  a  proud  temple  of  Neptune ;  but  being 
in  a  state  of  negociation  with  this  aquatic  charioteer 
to  drive  my  whales,  as  soon  as  I  should  get  them 
fairly  harnessed,  and  knowing  how  compliments  in 
such  cases  always  increase  prices,  I  declined. 
Others  mentioned  a  beautiful  being  in  the  nunnery  of 
St.  Gregorio,  but  the  face  of  her  who  dwells  in  Santa 
Clara  was  yet  too  bright  and  perfect  in  my  thoughts 
— that  sweet  image  shall  rest  there  unmixed  and 
unmarred.  I  was  for  Mount  Etna,  though  every 
leaf  of  the  forests  that  stretch  between  should  become 
a  timid  nun. 

We  left  in  two  hackney  coaches,  and  with  Etna 
,20* 


234  TRAVELING    INCIDENT. 

in  our  thoughts,  took  but  little  notice  of  objects  by 
the  way  : — a  man  in  pursuit  of  a  whale  never  stops  * 
to  harpoon  a  porpoise.  We  paused  for  a  few  mo 
ments  to  dine,  but  whether  on  fowl  or  fish,  I  know 
not ;  nor  can  I  speak  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
host  or  hostess  :  the  huntsman  tracking  the  lion,  is 
not  expected  to  notice  the  squirrel  that  chatters  and 
cracks  his  nuts  on  the  limb.  Night  came  on,  but 
we  bade  our  postillion  not  to  stop  while  man  or 
beast  could  keep  the  road,  or  find  it  if  lost.  Yet 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  we  fell  asleep  ;  but  the  hero 
of  Marengo  and  Austerlitz  slept  before  the  battle  of 
Waterloo : 

"  He  sleeps ! — while  earth  around  him  reels, 

And  mankind's  million  hosts  combine 
Against  the  sceptre-sword  which  seals 

Their  fate  from  Lapland  to  the  Line — 

While,  like  a  giant  roused  from  wine, 
Grim  Europe,  startling,  watches  him, 

The  warrior-lord  of  Lodi's  field — 

O'er  Jana's  rout  who  shook  his  shield — 
Is  hushed  in  slumber  dim  !" 

We  slept  also  ! — not  to  awake  like  him,  amid  thun 
der,  conflagration,  and  carnage,  but  to  a  situation 
seemingly  as  full  of  peril.  Our  horses  had  stopped  ; 
it  was  the  hush  of  midnight;  and  what  but  the 
strong  arms  of  robbers  could  be  at  the  bit !  One 
seized  a  pair  of  pistols,  another  an  old  broad-sword. 
I  leveled  a  blunderbuss — knowing  its  bell-muzzle  to 
have  a  scattering  faculty  that  must  strike  some  one, 
however  tremulously  untrue  the  aim.  We  disco 
vered,  however,  no  enemy,  no  daring  demander  of 


TRAVELING    INCIDENT.  235 

life  or  purse.  The  fact  was,  our  postillion  had  long 
since  sunk  to  sleep  ;  the  reins  and  whip  had  fallen 
from  his  hands,  and  the  horses,  which  had  been  hard 
pushed  through  the  day,  not  partaking  of  our  enthu 
siasm,  had  wandered — probably  to  look  out  for  the 
feed  which  our  impatience  had  denied  them — far 
away  into  an  old  corn-field : 

"In  a  corn-field,  high  and  dry, 

There  lay  gun-boat  number  one, 
Wiggle  wiggle  went  its  tail, 
And  pop  it  went  its  gun." 

But  our  craft  did  not  even  wiggle ;  and  my 
blunderbuss,  so  far  from  being  in  a  condition  to  give 
notice  of  our  distress,  had  no  flint  in  its  lock, — indeed 
the  lock  itself  was  among  the  missing  !  How  this 
fact  should  have  escaped  me,  when  I  leveled  at 
what  I  supposed  to  be  a  robber,  is  a  thing  which  I 
cannot  fuMy  explain  ;  but  I  did  then  suppose  that  a 
pull  of  the  trigger  would  be  fatal  to  somebody.  I 
am  thankful  on  the  whole,  that  there  was  no  rob 
ber  and  no  lock ;  for  I  never  liked  the  idea  of  kill 
ing  a  fellow  being ;  I  should  prefer,  but  for  the  re 
flection  it  might  bring  on  my  courage  to  be  robbed. 
I  always  admired  one  trait  in  Falstaff — he  never  in 
jured  living  man  ;  even  on  the  field  of  battle  his 
assaults  were  upon  those,  who,  without  the  least 
pang,  derived  from  every  blow  he  dealt,  only  an 
other  evidence  that  they  had  fought  bravely — he 
wounded  only  the  dead  !  Such  indeed  were  his 
principles  of  humanity,  his  nice  sense  of  honor,  that 


236  TRAVELING    INCIDENT 

sooner  than  draw  his  sword  upon  any  living  being, 
he  would,  where  a  reputation  for  courage  required 
that  blood  should  be  drawn,  wound  himself.  I  pre 
sent  him  to  those  who  have  renounced  the  rights 
of  self-defence,  as  the  best  exemplar  I  have  ever  yet 
met  with  of  their  self-sacrificing  nonentities. 

Where  was  it  we  brought  up  ? — ay,  I  recollect 
— it  was  in  the  corn-field.  Our  postillion  with  his 
head  rolled  over  on  to  one  shoulder,  and  his  idle 
arms  resting  before  him,  was  still  in  deep  slumber  ; 
while  his  brutes  were  making,  at  drowsy  intervals, 
their  long  and  slowly  recovered  nods ; — take  them  as 
a  group,  they  were  the  very  type  of  sleep.  To 
rouse  them  at  once  and  effectually,  I  determined, 
upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  to  discharge  the 
blunderbuss,  kill  whom  it  might.  But  then  that 
want  of  a  lock — it  was  a  poser, — besides  the  barrel 
had  no  powder  in  it — a  thing  which,  I  am  told,  con 
tributes  considerably  to  the  noise.  At  last  I  raised 
several  tremendous  whoops — a  faculty  which  I  ac 
quired  during  my  residence  among  the  Pottawatta- 
mies,  on  the  shore  of  Lake  Michigan.  It  had  the 
effect — man  and  beast  awoke  from  their  sea  of 
dreams,  and  even  Night  starting  from  his  ebon 
throne  let  fall  his  leaden  wand. 

After  boxing  about  some  time  among  the  bushes 
to  find  a  substitute  for  our  lost  whip,  we  started — 
recovered  the  road,  and  though  anxious  to  make  up, 
by  a  forced  speed,  for  the  time  lost  in  the  corn-field, 


APPROACH    TO   THE    MOUNT.  237 

yet  we  did  not  reach  Catania  till  a  late  hour  of  the 
morning.  Here  we  took  thirteen  mules — five  as 
substitutes  for  our  own  legs — five  as  sumpters — and 
three  for  the  accommodation  of  the  guide  and  mule 
teers.  Thus  equipped,  with  provisions  for  three  days, 
and  with  great  coats  and  blankets  sufficient  to  pro 
tect  us  in  a  region  of  ice,  we  started  a  little  before 
mid-day  for  the  top  of  Etna.  We  were  determined 
to  see  the  next  sun  rise  from  the  summit  of  that 
mount. 

Our  road  lay  for  fifteen  miles,  among  the  rugged 
reefs  of  lava,  disgorged  in  the  last  irruption.  Ev 
ery  thing  around  had  the  appearance  of  a  vast  lake, 
tumbled  in  a  storm,  and  suddenly  changed  to  solid 
blackness.  The  sides  of  the  mountain,  as  we  ap 
proached  it  presented  features  of  a  still  bolder  fierce 
ness.  The  huge  rock,  the  toppling  crag,  the  pro 
truding  bluff,  stood  forth  in  frightful  wildness  from 
the  channels  and  chasms  which  past  torrents  of 
fire  had  left  behind.  The  summit,  with  its  cloud 
of  smoke  and  shaking  cone,  crowned  the  whole 
with  a  dark  befitting  terror. 

At  sunset,  having  reached  the  verge  of  the  woody 
zone,  we  alighted  for  rest  and  refreshment.  We 
here  changed  our  summer  apparel  for  that  of  winter ; 
the  great  coats  which  had  been  put  on  our  sumpters 
by  our  trusty  guide — and  which  we  should  wholly 
have  neglected — were  now  in  eager  requisition. 
Thus  protected,  and  with  spirits  and  strength  reno- 


238  STORM    AT    NIGHT. 

vated  by  the  repast,  we  mounted  again  and  renewed 
the  ascent.  Day-light  had  gone,  but  the  sky  was 
clear  and  the  light  of  the  stars  was  sufficient  for 
our  practised  guide.  Our  mules  were  sure  footed, 
and  we  had  only  to  relinquish  ourselves  to  their 
superior  sagacity. 

At  a  little  before  midnight,  while  approaching 
the  foot  of  the  great  cone,  where  we  were  to  part 
with  our  faithful  animals,  and  where  indeed  we 
were  to  wait  for  the  break  of  day,  things  began  to 
wear  a  fearful  change.  Frequent  clouds  swept  past 
us;  but  there  was  one  at  some  distance  which 
seemed  more  stationary — gathering  in  bulk  and 
blackness.  Our  guide  anxiously  watched  it,  as  it 
collected  its  strength  and  threw  out  its  snagged 
flukes,  and  quickly  leading  the  way  up  a  steep 
ledge,  called  vehemently  upon  us  to  follow.  We 
had  only  gained  the  ridge  when  the  tempest  came. 
It  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  last  position  one  should 
seek  under  the  tornado  which  now  swept  us,  for  we 
were  obliged  instantly  to  dismount  and  hold  on  to 
the  sharp  points  of  the  rock.  Our  mules  placed 
themselves  instinctively  in  a  posture  presenting  the 
least  resistance  to  the  rushing  element.  It  was  soon 
apparent  why  our  guide  had  taken  refuge  on  this 
unsheltered  steep  ;  for,  as  the  cloud  struck  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  its  enfolded  lake  descended  in  deluge 
and  thunder.  Rocks  and  large  masses  of  ice,  dis^ 
engaged  by  its  violence,  rolled  down  on  each  side  of 


ASCENT    OF    THE    MOUNT.  239 

us  and  over  the  very  track  on  which  we  were  mov 
ing  but  a  few  moments  before.  Though  separated 
from  each  other  but  a  few  feet,  yet  no  one  could 
make  himself  heard  ;  the  torrents  around  and  the 
thunder  above  overpowered  even  the  loudly  vocifer 
ated  admonitions  of  our  guide.  There  was  at  one 
moment  a  darkness  that  might  be  felt,  and  then  at 
another  the  lightning,  flashing  down  through  the 
rifts  of  the  cloud,  would  make  the  slightest  pebble 
visible  in  its  searching  light.  An  hour  of  these 
dread  alternations,  while  torrents  and  rocks  were 
rolling  on  each  side  of  us — and  the  storm  went  past. 
We  were  drenched  to  the  skin,  while  our  outer  gar 
ments  began  to  be  stiff  with  ice,  yet  with  a  shivering 
accent,  we  could  speak  to  each  other  once  more.  It 
was  the  language  of  one  spirit  rallying  and  anima 
ting  another.  Capt.  Read  with  characteristic  ener 
gy,  was  the  first  to  mount. 

Nil  actum  reputans,  si  quid  superesset  agendum. 

The  reader,  without  undergoing  our  fatigue,  or 
being  wearied  with  a  detail  of  incident,  will  now 
conceive  us  about  two  thousand  feet  above  the 
point  where  we  had  encountered  the  storm — in  a 
substantial  shelter  at  the  foot  of  the  great  cone — 
around  a  grate  of  coal,  which  we  had  brought  with 
us  from  Catania — warming  our  fingers — snapping 
the  ice  out  of  our  coats — toasting  Etna  in  a  bumper 
of  its  own  wine— and  watching  for  the  break  of  day. 


240  VIEW    FROM    THE    SUMMIT. 

That  hour  comes :  and  now  let  him  take  his  stand  with 
us  on  the  highest  point  of  the  cone,  ten  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  imagine  the 
whole  island  of  Sicily  with  its  peaks  and  glens,  its  tor 
rents  and  valleys,  its  towns  and  forests,  with  the  brok 
en  line  of  its  bold  shores  stretched  beneath  in  one  vast 
panoramic  view — the  sun,  wheeling  up  out  of  the  dis 
tant  sea — the  heavens  flushed  with  its  splendor — the 
mountain  pinnacles  burning  in  its  beam — the  great 
cone  shaking  with  the  throes  of  the  unresting  ele 
ment  within — the  crater  sending  up  its  volumes  of 
steep  cloud — and  the  central  lake  of  fire  flashing  up 
through  the  darkness,  like  terrific  glimpses  of  the 
bottomless  abyss  !  But  the  reality  overpowers  all 
description  !  I  drop  my  pen,  and  half  accuse  rny- 
self  of  rashness  in  having  made  even  this  brief 
attempt. 

We  effected  the  descent  without  any  serious 
injury,  though  I  had  myself  rather  a  narrow 
escape.  My  mule  made  a  misstep — the  only  fault  of 
the  kind  he  had  committed  during  the  excursion.  I 
fell  over  his  head,  and  turned  many  somersets  ;  on 
looking  back,  I  saw  my  mule  standing  on  the  verge 
of  the  slope,  and  disregarding  every  thing  else, 
directing  his  anxious  look  to  me.  There  was  sor 
row  and  self-accusation  in  that  look — I  forgave  him. 
Beckoning  to  him,  he  came  down,  snuffed  about  my 
mangled  hat,  and  when  I  remounted,  pricked  up  his 
ears,  and  started  on  with  the  most  assured  tread. 


RETURN   TO    CATANIA.  241 

From  that  time  I  have  never  seen  this  animal  re 
ceive  a  stroke  of  the  lash,  without  a  feeling  of  disqui 
etude. 

We  reached  Catania  at  sunset,  in  fine  spirits, 
and  not  the  least  so,  Mrs.  R.,  who  had  sustained  all 
the  perils  and  hardships  of  the  expedition  with  won 
derful  courage  and  energy.  That  night  we  slept 
soundly,  as  well  we  might,  for  we  had  been  up  two 
nights  without  any  sleep,  except  the  nap  in  the 
corn-field,  and  that  would  have  been  less  long  had 
there  been  any  powder  in  the  barrel  of  my  blunder 
buss  ;  for  I  have  a  wonderful  tact  at  getting  any 
thing  off  that  is  loaded.  My  first  exploits  in  gun 
nery  were  with  the  pop-gun— the  dear  little  thing  ! 

I  do  advise  those  who  propose  to  fight 
A  duel,  when  they  feel  their  honor  pricked, 

To  use  this  pop-gun — 'tis  so  very  light, 
And  what  is  more,  so  safe — none  ever  kicked, 

Or  burst,  unless  it  had  too  thin  a  shell, 

And  then  the  little  thing  does  just  as  well. 

The  Etna  fever,  which  hurried  us  blindly  past 
all  other  objects  on  our  way  to  the  mount,  hav 
ing  subsided,  we  determined  to  defer  our  return  to 
the  ship,  and  glance  at  some  of  the  features  of  Cata 
nia.  This  is  a  beautiful  city,  though  built  upon  one 
vast  field  of  lava,  with  the  dead  beneath,  a  volcano 
above,  and  the  frightful  monuments  of  the  earth 
quake  around.  I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  some 
how  in  this  strange  world,  beauty,  danger  and 
death,  are  always  in  the  same  group.  The  sweetest 
21 


242  NATURE    AND    MAN. 

violet  I  ever  saw,  bloomed  among  wreaths  of  snow 
on  a  sister's  grave. 

The  amphitheatre,  where  the  ancient  Catanians 
held  their  sports,  and  where  they  may  have  been 
suddenly  engulfed  in  a  flood  of  fire,  stands  seventy 
feet  beneath  the  gay  promenade  of  the  present  town. 
This  gigantic  structure  is  built  itself  of  lava,  and 
for  aught  we  can  tell,  may  have  been  reared  over 
play-houses,  entombed  in  some  eruption  of  a  still 
earlier  date.  Thus  it  ever  is  in  this  world ;  on 
land,  the  votary  of  pleasure  indulges  his  mirth  over 
the  bones  of  a  perished  race ;  and  on  the  ocean,  the 
mariner  lightly  hymns  his  song  on  a  wave,  through 
which  have  sunk  thousands  to  re-appear  no  more. 
We  present  to  heaven  a  picture  of  life  and  death, 
mirth  and  madness,  over  which  angels  might  won 
der  and  weep  ! 

Nature  often  atones  for  the  fierceness  of  present 
calamities  in  the  beauty  of  remote  results.  The 
ashes  that  fall  in  the  burning  breath  of  the  volcano, 
nourish  plants  which  are  to  bloom  above  those  they 
have  buried  ;  and  the  forest,  which  now  encircles 
Catania,  waves  more  luxuriantly  than  the  one  char 
red  beneath.  The  vegetable  life  and  bloom  which 
followed  the  subsiding  waters  of  the  great  deluge, 
were  not  less  fresh  and  fair,  than  what  had  been  swept 
away.  But  man  covers  the  world  with  his  slain — 
leaving  their  flesh  to  the  vulture,  their  bones  to  the 


MUSEUM    OP    BISCARI.  243 

accents  of  the  last  trump,  and  his  own  guilt  to  the 
disposal  of  a  final  Judge  ! 

We  visited,  while  at  Catania,  the  museum  of  the 
prince  of  Biscari — the  largest  and  most  richly  stored 
private  cabinet  in  the  world.  I  pass  by  the  statues 
of  the  ancient  deities,  for  time  and  disaster  have  been 
as  fatal  to  their  forms,  as  inspiration  has  to  their  wor 
ship.  I  pass  by  the  collection  of  shells,  for  none  in 
all  their  vast  variety,  has  the  tone  and  rainbow 
beauty  of  the  one  through  which  the  mermaid 
breathed  my  dying  dirge.  I  pass  by  the  vases 
which  held  the  wines,  and  the  lamps  which  lighted 
the  festivities  of  the  ancients  ;  for  who  would  gaze  on 
the  nail  of  the  coffin,  in  which  youth  and  affection 
have  sunk  from  light  and  life  ?  I  pass  by  the  count 
less  minerals  and  gems — they  shed  no  rays  of  such 
living  light  as  those  which  beam  from  the  eye  of  the 
bright  gazelle.  I  pass  by  the  million  of  embalmed 
insects, — others  swarm  the  field  and  forest  happy 
in  the  life  'which  they  have  lost.  I  pass  by — no  I 
will  not — the  expressive  statue  of  Cleopatra.  The 
heart  throbs  beneath  its  beauty — the  eye  swims 
when  lifted  to  that  last  look  of  suicidal  despair. 

Leaving  the  museum,  we  encountered  a  humble 
Franciscan  in  his  simple  attire — his  uncovered  head 
and  sandals.  He  presented  us  with  some  flowers, 
and  received  in  his  thin  pale  hand  our  little  chari 
ties.  Poor  pilgrim!  what  is  this  world  to  thee? 
Thou  hast  renounced  its  wealth,  its  pleasures,  its 


244  CAVALIER   SERVENTE. 

restless  spirit  of  enterprise  :  thy  home  is  not  here — 
is  it  in  heaven  ? — art  thou  indeed  going  to  that  better 
land,  where  the  strife  and  vanities  of  earth  never 
come  ?  May  the  privations  of  thy  lot  atone  for  the 
mistaken  virtues  of  thy  creed. 

If  I  determine  to  become  a  monk,  I  will  come 
here  and  join  the  Benedictines.  They  have  a 
splendid  monastery,  richly  endowed — luxuriant  gar 
dens — sumptuous  fare — nothing  to  do — they  live 
like  gentlemen.  If  any  one  questions  the  usefulness 
of  such  a  life,  I  can  only  say,  let  him  attend  to  his 
own  business.  What  concern  is  it  of  his,  if,  like  a 
silk-worm,  I  wind  myself  up  in  my  own  web  ?  Let 
him  not  attempt  to  wind  my  house  on  to  his  bobbin. 

Cicisbeoism  prevails  among  the  higher  classes  in 
Catania.  It  passes  as  a  pure  platonic  affection — 
infringing  no  marriage  obligation — no  law  of  mo 
rality — no  rule  of  rigid  propriety — merely  a  chaste 
friendship — innocent  as  a  new-born  babe.  It  does, 
to  be  sure,  encourage  a  peculiar  intimacy,  and  may 
perhaps  diversify  the  features  of  the  younger  mem 
bers  of  the  family  ;  but  what  of  that  ?  No  sentiment 
of  delicacy  has  been  publicly  shocked — and  no  one 
dies  before  his  time  comes : — let  the  exquisite 
arrangement  alone.  Never  was  there  a  charmer  of 
the  bird  with  so  beautiful  a  skin,  so  bright  an  eye, 
and  so  venomous  a  fang !  It  is  the  devil  himself 
disguised  as  an  angel  of  light ! 

Leaving  Catania — the  excellent  hotel  of  the  at- 


RETURN    TO    MESSINA.  245 

tentive  Abatti — and  traveling  the  remaining  half  of 
the  day  and  the  succeeding  night,  we  arrived  at 
Messina  at  the  break  of  day.  The  leaves  were  wet 
with  the  dew,  and  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  were 
among  them. 

Heavens,  what  a  goodly  sight !  the  morning  blushing 
Through  the  drops  of  night,  more  beautiful  appears 

Than  any  damsel  with  the  life-blood  rushing 

To  her  modest  cheeks,  while  they  are-bathed  in  tears  ; 

Its  rosy  glow  deep  on  the  orient  flushing, 
Kindles  in  flame  that  little  cloud  which  rears 

Its  crest,  as  if 'twere  into  heaven  creeping — 

Such  mora  as  this  was  never  meant  for  sleeping. 

The  stars — the  little  stars,  whose  bright  creation 

Seems  as  a  laughing  miracle  to  me, 
In  fading  loveliness  desert  their  station, 

And  scudinhasie  towards  eternity: 
Night's  silent  queen,  a  meek-eyed  revelation 

Of  all  that's  bright  and  best  in  purity 
And  innocence,  jealous  Aurora's  painting, 
Like  to  a  bride  at  nuptial  altar  fainting. 

Sweet  star,  that  lingers  still  on  yon  steep  height,' 
Knowest  thou  not  that  thou  art  wondrous  pale  7 

Why  keep  thy  timid  watch  in  deep  day-light 7 
Dost  list  some  poor  deluded  lover's  tale — 

Too  long  to  be  all  told  in  one  brief  night  7 

Come— spread  thy  pinion  to  the  morning  gale, 

And  haste  away,  thy  sisters  all  are  gone — 

I  would  not  see  thee  lingering  there  alone. 

Lone  star,  the  loveliest  creature  thou, 
That  ever  smiled  its  sweetness  on  this  earth, 

So  wan  and  pale  as  I  behold  thee  now, — I 
And  yet  thine  eye  is  full  of  tearful  mirth; 

To  thy  all  beauteous  face  I  fondly  bow, 
Tho1  veiled  from  me  Ihe  mysteries  of  thy  birth ; 

Thy  singing  sisters  call  again  to  thee, 

Haste,  haste  away — but  meet  me  o'er  the  sea. 

21* 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Passage  from  Messina  to  Milo— Marat  and  Ney— Tides  of  the  Strait 
— Island  of  Candia— Island  of  Cerigo — Aspect  of  Milo — Historic 
Incidents— Greek  Pilot— Medicinal  Springs— Natural  Grottoes- 
Ancient  Tombs. 

WEIGHING  anchor  from  Messina,  we  passed  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  strait  the  small  village  of 
Reggio,  which  would  have  hardly  arrested  our 
attention,  but  for  its  being  the  last  retreat  of  the 
unfortunate  Marat.  There  is  over  the  whole  career 
of  this  splendid  officer  a  warmth  of  generosity,  a 
depth  of  enthusiasm  and  romance,  which  should 
have  secured  him  from  the  inhuman  and  unmerited 
death,  which  his  miserable  foes  decreed.  His  last  look, 
as  he  sunk  alone,  unarmed  and  unbefriended,  beneath 
the  mortal  aim  of  his  executioners — and  the  last 
words  of  his  brave  companion  in  arms,  the  gallant 
Ney,  as  he  kneeled  down  to  die — may  perhaps  have 
been  regarded  by  some  with  exultation  ;  but  a  man  of 
the  slightest  magnanimity  would  have  turned  away 
with  indignant  shame  and  regret.  The  errors  of 
such  men  meet  with  an  adequate  retribution,  when 
the  reverses  of  the  field  divest  them  of  their  splen 
dor  and  power  ;  and  let  us  not  insult  iheii  misfor- 


TIDES    OP    THE    STRAIT.  247 

tunes  and  human  nature  by  sending  them  to  the 
hands  of  the  common  executioner,  or  chaining  them, 
like  their  captive  chief,  to  a  desolate  rock  in  the  ocean. 

But  I  have  wandered  unintentionally  to  St. 
Helena,  and  must  come  back  to  take  a  parting  look  at 
the  strait.  A  current  sets  here  alternately  north  and 
south,  at  the  rate  of  three  or  four  knots  an  hour. 
It  is  strictly  a  tide,  influenced  by  the  moon,  with  a 
strong  ebb  and  flow,  though  the  rise  and  fall  are  riot 
great.  When  the  current  sets  in  from  the  north,  it 
first  encounters  the  point  of  Pelorus,  which  still  per 
petuates  the  name  of  Hannibal's  pilot;  it  is  here 
headed  off,  and  sets  towards  Scylla,  where  it  is  again 
deflected  in  an  opposite  direction,  and  drives  to 
wards  the  isthmus,  which  protects  the  harbor  of 
Messina.  On  its  return,  it  pursues  essentially  the 
same  track,  but  rarely  in  either  direction  seriously 
annoys  a  ship,  unless  there  be  a  calm,  a  strong  head 
wind,  or  one  of  those  traversing  gusts  which  fre* 
quently  issue  from  the  gorges  of  the  mountains. 
But,  like  the  renowned  Argonauts,  we  have  escaped 
the  disasters  of  the  pass  ;  so  adieu  to  its  counter  cur 
rents,  whirlpools,  and  rocks.  They  have  ever  had 
more  poetry  in  them  than  peril. 

Our  next  sight  of  land  rested  on  the  island  of 
Candia.  Mount  Ida,  which  claims  the  proud  pre 
eminence  of  being  the  birth-place  of  Jupiter,  stri 
kingly  sustains  its  pretensions  in  its  own  lofty  and 
solitary  grandeur.  It  is  a  place  befitting  the  infancy 


248  ISLE    OP    CERIGO. 

of  one  destined  to  reign  over  the  hopes  and  fears  of 
this  poor  world.  It  would  seem  that  the  infant 
Thunderer  began  to  exercise  his  frightful  functions, 
even  before  leaving  the  place  of  his  nativity ;  for  Ida 
has  all  the  blight  and  barrenness  which  the  fiercest 
lightning  leaves  behind.  The  presiding  divinity 
must  also,  in  some  measure,  have  moulded  the  cha 
racter  of  the  inhabitants,  for  they  have  ever  been 
distinguished  for  valor  and  vice,  skill  and  falsehood. 
They  exhibited  their  courage  and  resolution  in  their 
resistance  to  the  Romans,  and  in  the  memorable 
siege  of  their  principal  city,  by  the  Ottoman  power 
in  the  seventeenth  century.  Their  vices  aside  from 
the  passages  of  Strabo,  live  in  many  a  lewd  tale,  and 
their  piratical  audacity  still  thrills  through  the  story 
of  the  mariner.  Their  skill  in  archery  aided  Xeno- 
phon  in  his  celebrated  retreat,  and  assisted  Alexan 
der  the  Great  in  his  conquests.  Their  proneriess  to 
falsehood  passed  into  a  proverb,  and  even  shocked 
the  satirical  muse  of  Ovid : 

Non  hoc  centum  quae  sustinet  urbes 

Quamvis  sit  mendax,  Greta  negare  potest. 

The  next  island  that  we  made,  was  Cerigo—  the 
the  ancient  Cithera,  and  favorite  isle  of  Venus. 
Near  its  sweet  shore,  this  goddess  rose  from  the 
wave  in  the  full  perfection  of  her  soft  entrancing 
beauty.  Her  being,  no  less  than  her  birth,  betray 
ed  her  celestial  origin.  With  a  form  moulded  in  all 
its  developments,  to  the  most  rich  and  exquisite 


ISLE    OF    MILO.  249 

symmetry — a  countenance  lighted  up  with  the  earn 
estness  of  serene  and  passionate  thought — a  soul 
breathing  through  her  very  frame  the  warmth  and 
kindling  fondness  of  love— with  a  step  that  could 
dispense  with  the  earth,  and  a  look  that  could  make 
a  heaven  ; — it  is  no  wonder  that  she  filled  and  fasci 
nated  the  human  heart ; — and  that  the  prince  and 
the  poet,  the  warrior  and  the  sage,  laid  their  richest 
offerings  upon  her  shrine.  But  her  worship  is  now- 
passed — her  temples  are  tottering  in  ruins — her  altars 
are  forsaken — her  fountains  unvisited — and  even 
this  sweet  isle,  where  she  once  dwelt,  has  only  the 
murmuring  wave  to  mourn  over  the  dream  of  her 
perished  beauty.  Some  glimpses  of  her  loveliness 
may  linger  still  in  the  triumphs  of  the  chisel  and 
pencil,  but  her  soul  of  surpassing  sweetness  and 
power  is  not  there  ;  and  the  spell  of  her  charms  will 
never  return,  while  the  spirit  of  a  holier  revelation 
continues  to  chasten  down  the  voluptuous  imagina 
tion  of  man. 

Passing  Cithera,  we  held  our  course  for  Milo, — 
and  soon  came  to  anchor  in  its  well  sheltered  har 
bor.  The  first  sentiment  that  occurred  to  me,  in 
looking  at  the  form  and  aspect  of  this  island,  turned 
to  the  injustice  which  has  been  done  to  it,  in  the  pur 
poses  which  it  has  been  compelled  to  subserve.  It 
appeared  as  if  from  some  motive  of  curiosity  it  had 
merely  looked  up  out  of  the  wave,  to  see  what  was 
going  on  in  this  strange  world — had  been  caught  in 


250  HISTORIC    INCIDENTS. 

that  situation  and  detained,  as  an  adventurous  tra 
veler  peeping  into  an  Arab  encampment,  is  some 
times  held  there  in  lawless  bondage.     Yet  there  is 
no  cast  of  grief  or  violence  upon  it ;  indeed  it  seems 
as  cheerful  as  if  it  never  had  endured  a  compulsory 
servitude  ;  though  so  far  from  having  escaped  the 
ignoble  task  of  contributing  to  the  maintenance  of 
man,  it  has  at  one  time  sustained  a  population  of 
twenty  thousand  upon  its  own  resources.     It  was 
first  made  a  captive  by  a  Lacedaemonian  colony, 
and  like  a  true  knight,  enabled  them,  for  seven  hun 
dred  years  previous  to  the  Pelopenesian  war,  to  pre 
serve  their   independence.      With   more  gallantry 
than  selfish  wisdom,  it  refused  in  that  long  struggle 
to  aid  the  designs  of  the  Athenians,  who  revenged 
this  neutrality  by  visiting  it  with  the  heaviest  deso 
lation  in  their  power.     This  wicked  act  has  been 
sketched  by  Thucydides,  in  one  of  his  terse  senten 
ces. — The  men  it  appears  who  were  able  to  bear 
arms  were  put  to  death — the  women  and  children 
carried  off  into  exile. 

In  the  recent  struggle  between  the  Greek  and 
Turk,  this  little  isle  saved  itself  from  Moslem  ven 
geance  by  its  peaceful  demeanor,  and  better  served 
the  interests  of  humanity  in  thus  becoming  a  partial 
asylum,  where  the  oppressed  and  despairing  might 
recover  strength  and  resolution.  It  is  now  what  it 
was  in  earlier  times — a  sort  of  resting  place  for  the 
mariner.  In  weariness  and  storm,  he  has  only  to 


GREEK    PILOT,  251 

drop  around  into  this  quiet  harbor,  and  then  he  may 
tune  his  reed,  or  traverse  his  deck,  and  let  the  tem 
pest  without  rave  till  it  frets  itself  to  rest. 

But  our  object  here  was  not  to  shelter  ourselves 
from  a  gale,  but  to  procure  the  aid  of  those  whose 
knowledge  of  the  intricate  passes  of  this  sea  might 
perhaps  save  us  from  that  last  disaster  which  some 
times  befalls  a  ship.  The  skill  of  the  pilot  here, 
though,  is  very  much  confined  to  occasions  when 
there  is  the  least  necessity  for  it.  It  is  to  be  relied  on 
when  perils  are  distinctly  visible, — but  when  storm 
and  wave  and  night  mingle  in  conflict,  the  Greek 
pilot  has  no  resource  but  to  fall  on  his  knees  and 
supplicate  the  assistance  of  the  blessed  Virgin. 
Could  that  sweet  saint  send  out  the  light  of  those 
stars  which  once  lighted  her  solitary  path  in  Judea,  it 
would  be  eminently  wise  to  invoke  her  aid.  Far 
be  it  from  me,  however,  to  quench  the  hope  and  trust 
which  even  a  delusive  confidence  may  awaken. 
Yet  in  a  storm,  I  would  sooner  trust  to  a  strong 
cable,  or  a  good  offing  with  a  close  reef,  than  to  any 
miraculous  preservation  within  the  power  of  the 
compassionate  Madonna.  But  enough  of  these 
heterodox  sentiments. 

Mounting  some  little  stunted  ponies,  which  were 
but  a  trifle  larger  than  goats,  we  went  in  quest  of 
some  of  the  natural  curiosities  of  the  island.  A 
short  ride  brought  us  to  the  tepid  springs,  which 
rise  quite  up  the  harbor  near  the  water's  edge. 


252  GROTTO    OF    MILO. 

These  springs  are  strongly  impregnated  with  sul 
phur,  and  are  much  frequented  by  those  afflicted 
with  scrofulous  diseases, — maladies  which  are  often 
met  with  here,  and  which  are  ascribed  to  a  noxious 
property  in  the  honey  with  which  the  Cyclades 
abound.  So  there  is  no  sweet  without  its  bitter — 
no  rose  without  its  thorn.  But  nature  sometimes, 
as  in  the  present  case,  furnishes  an  antidote  for  the 
ills  which  she  brings.  Would  that  man  could  do 
the  same,  but  his  wrongs  strike  so  deeply,  that  a 
reparation  is  frequently  not  within  his  power.  A 
broken  heart  can  never  be  revived  and  restored  ;  it 
may  perchance  smile  again,  but  its  smiles  will  be 
like  flowers  on  a  sepulchre. 

From  the  springs  we  rode  to  a  singular  cave  near 
the  entrance  of  the  harbor.  .  After  winding  down  a 
narrow  and  difficult  passage,  we  found  ourselves  in 
a  large  hall,  beautifully  vaulted  with  crystalized  sul- 
pher.  This  mineral  in  the  hands  of  man,  has  a 
bad  name,  and  a  worse  association ;  but  left  to 
nature,  she  converts  it  into  brilliant  gems,  with  which 
she  studs  the  glowing  domes  of  her  caverned  palaces. 
Here  was  one  of  her  halls  in  which  even  an  Egeria 
might  have  dwelt,  and  sighed  for  nothing  earthly, 
unless  it  were  the  footsteps  of  her  mortal  lover. 
And  perhaps  it  was  in  other  times  the  abode  of 
some  sweet  romantic  being,  whose  devoted  love  flew 
the  crowd,  to  cherish  in  solitude  and  silence  its 
fondness  and  trust.  For  there  is  something  in  the 


GROTTOES    OF    MILO.  253 

spirit  of  this  mysterious  passion  which  takes  the  heart 
away  from  the  empty  bustle  and  prattle  of  the  mul 
titude.  It  is  this  which  sanctifies  the  private  hearth, 
arid  garlands  the  domestic  altar  with  flowers  that 
can  never  die.  One  that  looks  away  from  the  com 
panion  of  his  bosom,  for  solace  and  delight,  has 
mistaken  the  path  to  true  happiness  and  virtue. 

But  I  am  again  on  a  theme  that  has  little  to  do 
with  the  present  fountains  and  grottoes  of  Milo.  We 
were  struck  on  riding  over  the  island,  with  the  number 
and  variety  of  its  caverns,  and  with  the  beautiful  re 
sults  of  the  chemical  operations,  which  are  constantly 
going  on  in  these  natural  laboratories.     These  sin 
gular  results  are  produced  from  rich  mineral  sub 
stances,  abounding  in  the  hollow  hills,  dissolved  and 
sublimated  by  the  agency  of  a  volcanic  flame,  which 
appears  to  live  in  the  heart  of  the  island.  Let  this  isle 
alone  ; — it  needs  no  forge,  retort,  blowpipe  or  galva 
nic  battery,  to  aid  its  chemical  experiments.     To  its 
lectures  Pliny  listened,  and  thousands  since  have 
wisely  imitated  the  docility  of  his  example.     We  ob 
served  in  our  rambles  the  constant  occurrence  of 
excavations,  which  were   once  immense  reservoirs 
for  the  reception  of  rain  water, — there  being  no  fresh 
springs  in  the  island,  and  which,  though  now  neg 
lected  and  partially  filled  by  falling  fragments,  attest 
the  former  denseness  of  the  population. 

We  spent  some  time  among  the  catacombs,  the 
most  perfect  of  which  are  just  being  opened,   and 
22 


254  ANCIENT   TOMBS. 

may  be  found  near  the  site  of  the  ancient  capital. 
These  chambers  of  the  dead  are  cftt  in  the  soft  rock, 
being  eight   or   ten   feet  square  and   as   many   in 
height,  with  narrow  cells  opening  around  them,  in. 
which  the  bodies  were  deposited.     In  the  cells  are 
discovered  the  jewels  and  ornaments  of  the  deceased, 
and  in  the  chambers  lachrymatory  vases,  in  which 
the  bereaved  preserved  their  tears,  as  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  the  departed.     Among  the  ornaments  a 
massive  ring  was  recently  discovered,  which  was 
purchased  here  for  fifty  pounds,  and  subsequently 
sold  for  five  hundred.     The  vases  are  some  of  them 
of  glass,  brilliantly  colored  in  the  material  ;  others 
of  an  argillaceous  substance,  penciled  with  a  delicate 
and  unfading  force.    They  are  now  searched  for  and 
sold  by  the  natives  to  the  antiquary,  or  any  one  who 
may  feel  or  affect  an  interest  in  the  arts  and  habits 
of  the   ancients.     How  every  thing  in  this  world 
tends  to  ruin  and  forget  fulness  !     "We  are  not  only 
to  die — to  be  placed  in  the  earth — but  the  violets 
are  to  be  plucked  from  our  graves — these  narrow 
mounds  perhaps  to  be  leveled  down  to  gratify  the 
pride  of  a  village  and  furnish  a  promenade  for  the 
gay — and  then  as  if  this  were  not  enough,  should 
the  place  of  our  burial  in  after  ages  become  known, 
our  ashes  may  be  disturbed  and  though  the  tearless 
grief  of  our  friends  may  save  the  search  after  lachry 
matories — yet  our  very  dust  may  be  sifted  in  search 
of  a  gainful  trinket.     What  has  been  will  be  ;  for 


DISTURBING    THE    DEAD.  255 

"  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun."  Then  let 
me  be  spared  all  mockery  of  grief — all  eulogies  writ 
ten  and  forgotten  by  the  same  individual— let  my 
resting  place  be  unknown. 

When  ye  shall  lay  me  in  the  shroud, 

And  look  your  last  adieu, 
Ye  shall  not  tell  it  to  the  crowd, 

Nor  to  the  friendly  few: 
And  when  ye  place  me  on  the  bier, 

Ye  shall  not  wail  a  word, 
Nor  let  your  eyes  confess  a  tear, 

Or  e'en  a  sigh  be  heard; 

Much  less  shall  there  be  funeral  knell, 

Or  roll  of  muffled  drum, 
Or,  when  ye  leave  where  I  must  dwell— 

The  peal  of  parting  gun. 
Bear  me  away  at  dead  of  night. 

And  let  your  footsteps  fail 
As  soft  and  silently,  as  light 

The  moon-beams  on  the  pall — 

Till  ye  shall  reach  some  desert  shore^ 

Or  some  secluded  glen, 
Where  man  hath  never  been  before, 

And  ye  will  not  again  ; 
Inter  me  there  without  a  stono 

Or  mound  to  mark  the  spot, — 
A  grave  to  all  but  ye  unknown, 

And  then  by  ye  forget. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

Town  of  Milo— Steepness  of  the  Streets— Advice  to  Distillers— Sta 
tue  of  Venus— View  from  the  Town— Greek  Wedding— Dress  and 
Person  of  the  Bride— Fickleness  of  Fashions  in  Dress— Anecdote 
of  Franklin. 

WE  left  the  ship  this  morning  for  the  purpose  of 
visitino-  the  town  of  Milo,  which  is  built  around  the 

W  ' 

conical  summit  of  a  mountain,  and  sufficiently  ele 
vated  to  look  down  on  Mahomet's  coffin,  high  as  it 
floats  even  in  the  fanatical  dream  of  a  Mussulman. 
This  giddy  position  was  chosen  as  a  refuge  or  pro 
tection  from  pirates  ;  but  the  corsair  has  reached 
it — not  in  search  of  a  Medora,  I  could  almost  ex 
cuse  him  for  that,  but  in  quest  of  a  treasure  far  less 
lovely,  though  of  deeper  fascination  to  a  sordid  heart. 
On  our  ascent  we  turned  aside  to  the  remains  of  a 
theatre,  which  has  been  discovered  within  a  few 
years  past.  The  rubbish  and  earth  with  which  it 
was  covered  have  been  partially  removed  ;  and  the 
relic  presents  an  entireness  of  preservation  rarely  to 
be  met  with  even  where,  as  in  the  present  case,  the 
material  has  the  durability  which  belongs  to  marble. 
The  theatre,  soon  after  its  discovery,  was  purchased 
by  Baron  Haller,  under  whose  direction  the  exca- 


STATUE    OP    VENUS.  257 

vations  were  vigorously  prosecuted,  until  a  treach 
erous  wa^ve,  as  he  was  crossing  the  harbor,  termina 
ted  his  career,  and  deprived  the  world  of  the  fruits 
of  his  enterprise.  The  object  of  his  munificent 
curiosity  remains  ;  and  the  rent  cornice  and  column 
will  long  be  surveyed  by  the  stranger,  as  the  touch 
ing  emblems  of  his  broken  hopes  and  purposes. 

On  returning  to  our  path,  we  passed  the  spot 
where  the  celebrated  statue — the  Venus  of  Milo 
was  discovered.  It  has  since  been  purchased 
by  the  French  government,  and  is  now  exhibited  in 
the  Louvre,  where  doubtless  many  a  Parisian  belle 
is  studying  its  air  and  attitude,  and  endeavoring  to 
mould  her  yielding  form  after  its  perfect  symmetry. 
But  corsets  and  studied  positions  will  never  make  a 
Venus.  This  peerless  prototype  looked  and  moved 
just  as  she  came  from  the  soft  hand  of  nature ;  and 
those  who  would  approach  her,  in  the  power  of  their 
charms,  must  listen  to  an  oracle  that  talks  not  of 
airs  and  stays.  Were  Praxitiles  to  come  from  his 
resting  place,  and  a  modern  beauty  to  present  her 
self  before  him,  to  stand  for  her  statue,  in  all  the  nar 
rowing  and  disorganizing  appendages,  which  fash^ 
ion  now  sanctions,  the  astounded  artist  would  drop 
his  chisel  and  hasten  fast  as  possible  back  to  his 
grave  ! 

But  enough  of  this  censorial   criticism  on  the 
false   taste  of  the  ladies.     They  will,  I  have  no 
doubt,  regard  my  strictures  as  extremely  querulous 
23* 


258  ASCENT    TO    THE   TOWN. 

and  impudent :  but  I  can  assure  them  I  am  one  of 
the  most  modest  and  peaceable  men  in  the  world, 
and  little  disposed  to  give  offence  in  that  quarter, 
where  I  may  perhaps  one  day  be  seeking  the  happi 
ness,  which  heaven  has  righteously  denied  to  the 
cynanthropy  and  selfishness  of  the  single  state.  I 
trust  that  this  confession,  if  it  fail  to  secure  me  their 
favor,  will  at  least,  obtain  me  their  forgiving  tole 
rance  ;  and  I  will  engage  not  to  offend  again, 
though  nature  pants  and  dies  under  the  constrict 
ing  tortures  of  the  cord  and  steel.  And  now  gentle 
one,  let  us  leave  this  distressing  theme,  and  I  will 
resume  the  story  of  our  ascent  to  the  town  of 
Milo. 

We  recovered  the  path,  from  which  we  had  di 
verged,  by  beating  our  way  through  several  small 
plats  of  ground,  surrounded  with  hedges  of  the  aloe, 
whose  lance-like  thorns,  wound  a  man's  flesh  as 
much  as  scandal  does  his  character.  Our  way  now 
lay  up  in  a  rambling  zig-zag  line,  rendered  neces 
sary  not  only  by  the  steepness  of  the  actual  ascent, 
but  the  frequent  occurrence  of  the  insurmountable 
bluff  and  projecting  crag.  It  appeared  to  me  while 
twisting  my  sight  and  strength  through  the  exhaust 
ing  tortuosities  of  this  path,  that  Satan  would  have 
never  found  his  way  from  Tartarus  to  Paradise,  on 
a  road  as  crooked  and  laborious  as  that  which  we 
were  threading.  Here,  though,  I  hope  will  end  all 
supposed  parallel  between  the  situation,  climbing 


ADVICE    TO    DISTILLERS.  259 

functions,  and  errand  of  his  Satanic  majesty  and  my 
self.  I  was  bound  to  Milo — he  was  in  search  of 
Eden  ;  I  went  to  bless  a  new-married  couple,  as 
will  presently  appear — he  to  make  miserable  the 
only  wedded  pair  on  earth;  I  was  on — to  say  the 
worst  of  it — a  fool's  errand — his  was  that  of  a  fiend. 
But  to  close  this  contrast,  so  severe  upon  Milton's 
hero,  without  perhaps  being  honorable  to  myself,  we 
at  last  reached  the  town. 

We  found  all  its  streets  extremely  narrow,  for  the 
want  of  room  to  make  them  wider,  and  decently 
clean,  from  their  precipitancy  ;  for  the  contents  of  a 
dish-kettle,  or  wash-bowl,  would  hardly  stop  till  they 
had  reached  the  harbor ;  and  as  for  a  stumbling 
drunkard,  he  would  roll  down  with  increasing  mo 
mentum,  plump  into  the  wave. 

There  are,  consequently,  no  "  Temperance  Soci 
eties"  here — no  annoyances  from  those  who  will  not 
allow  others  to  drink,  because  they  have  ceased  to 
drink  themselves.  I  would  therefore  advise  the  dis 
tiller,  as  he  appears  to  be  particularly  obnoxious  to 
these  men  who  have  forsaken  their  bottles,  to  come 
and  work  his  worms  here,  where  he  will  cease  to  be 
annoyed,  not  only  by  those  who  do  not  take  a  drop 
at  all,  but  by  those  who  take  a  drop  too  much.  For 
instead  of  having  the  grounds  about  his  establishment 
disfigured  by  an  unseemly  group — one  trying  to 
knock  off  another's  nose — another  blinking  and 
sleeping  in  the  sun — another  zig-zagging  a  plain 


260  FORM    OF    HOUSES. 

path — another  casting  his  sickly  smile  on  the  stran 
ger — another  cocking  his  eye  ahead,  as  if  leveling  at 
a  partridge — and  another  looking  as  if  about  to  as 
sume  the  functions  of  a  stool-pigeon  ; — instead  of  this, 
the  moment  a  fellow  has  taken  a  glass  too  much  and 
attempts  his  first  step,  he  tumbles,  and  rolling  down 
ward  about  two  miles  comes  souse  into  the  bay. 
This  cleverly  cools  him  off,  quenches  all  the  burn 
ing  rags  on  his  back,  and  he  is  ready  to  mount 
again,  fresh  as  a  fish.  The  distiller,  therefore, 
escapes  all  annoyance  from  those  who  do  not  drink, 
and  all  disgust  from  those  who  do ;  and  as  for  that 
being  who  goes  about  as  a  roaring  lion,  seeking 
whom  he  may  devour,  if  there  be  any  virtue  in 
friendship,  any  merit  in  good  service,  he  has  nought 
to  fear  from  him. 

The  roofs  of  the  houses,  we  observed,  were  all 
flat.  This  may  have  been  from  a  prudential  anxi 
ety  to  present  the  least  possible  exposure  to  the 
violent  winds  which  occasionally  sweep  these 
heights,  or  to  lessen  the  weight,  which  only  aggra 
vates  the  toppling  propensities  of  the  dwelling; — or 
from  motives  of  economy,  which  I  no  not  assuredly 
know,  as  I  never  made  the  inquiry  ;  but  whatever 
may  have  been  the  inducement,  they  afford  a  good 
protection  from  all  inclemencies  of  weather,  and  the 
only  promenade  of  which  this  cloud-capped  town  can 
boast. 

Under  the  guidance  of  an  intelligent  native,  who 


VIEW    FROM    THE    TOWN.  261 

had  been  engaged  as  a  pilot  for  our  ship,  we  con 
tinued  our  climbing,  till  we  reached  the  roof  of 
the  church,  which  rightly  crowns  the  summit. 
The  wide  panorama  of  wave  and  isle  and  mount, 
which  now  spread  around  us,  would  have  rewarded 
much  greater  fatigues  than  we  had  undergone  in 
the  ascent.  Milo  itself,  with  the  soft  oval  sweep  of 
its  shores,  the  picturesque  prominency  of  its  hills, 
the  green  depth  of  its  valleys,  and  above  all,  the 
slumbering  beauty  of  the  harbor,  as  it  lay  with  the 
repose  and  brilliancy  of  an  inland  lake,  was  enough 
to  chain  the  eye,  and  fill  the  heart.  But  the  charms 
of  the  prospect  rested  not  here, — a  multitude  of  isles 
like  this  lay  within  the  circling  range  of  our  vision, 
bright  as  the  waves  in  which  their  shadows  were 
enshrined,  and  soft  as  the  skies  that  covered  them. 
They  seemed  as  if  formed  for  the  most  fond,  frater 
nal  alliance,  yet  capable  each  one  in  an  hour  of 
ingratitude  or  indignity,  of  leaning  upon  its  own 
resources.  I  like  this  self-relying  aspect,  both  in 
nature  and  man ;  it  imparts  dignity,  respect,  and 
confidence,  without  detracting  in  the  slightest  degree 
from  the  obligations  and  advantages  of  friendship. 
In  this  selfish  and  treacherous  world,  a  person  should 
never  place  his  happiness  at  the  mercy  of  another; 
betrayal  and  ruin  are  too  apt  to  be  the  conse 
quence.  This  remark,  though,  must  not  be  extended 
to  that  sacred  alliance  on  which  the  marriage  seal 
has  been  set,  for  the  greater  the  confidence  here, 


262  GREEK    WEDDING. 

the  less  liable  perhaps  is  it  to  abuse ;  and  not  only 
so,  but  without  this  unreserved  confidence,  love's 
lamp  would  burn  dim,  even  before  the  first  night 
had  waned  on  its  middle  watch. 

Since  I  have  touched  on  this  delicate  theme,  my 
narrative  may  as  well  descend  at  once  under  its 
light,  from  the  roof  of  the  church  to  the  new-married 
couple,  whose  first  day  of  a  happy  date  hundreds 
had  now  come  to  witness  and  to  bless.  To  this  fes 
tival  we  had  been  invited,  and  though  unable  to  dis 
course  in  modern  Greek,  yet  we  determined  to  see 
with  what  peculiarities  Hymen  might  still  hold  his 
court  in  this  ancient  Melos.  We  found  the  assem 
bly  about  a  third  of  the  way  down  the  declivity,  on 
a  small  green,  sustained  by  a  bold  range  of  rock, 
which  served  it  as  a  natural  parapet.  The  aged 
were  seated  under  the  fruit  trees,  eating  sweetmeats 
and  drinking  sherbet;  the  children  were  in  scat 
tered  groups  wildly  at  play ;  the  youth  of  both 
sex3s  were  more  in  the  centre,  dancing  the  Romai- 
ka.  In  performing  the  evolutions  of  this  oriental 
dance,  the  parties  begin  with  a  slow  and  solemn 
movement,  and  gradually  accelerate  the  action  as 
the  music  becomes  more  lively.  The  conductress  of 
the  figures,  who  on  this  occasion  was  the  bride,  led 
the  company  by  easy  and  natural  gradations  to  the 
most  rapid  evolutions,  involving  them  constantly  in 
a  maze  of  intricacies,  through  which  they  followed 
her,  without  once  breaking  the  chain,  or  losing  the 


DRESS    OP    THE    BRIDE.  263 

measure.  The  music  consisted  simply  of  the  Bala- 
ika,  which  accorded  with  the  rural  and  romantic 
aspect  of  the  scene.  Something  like  this,  blended 
perhaps  with  still  stronger  fascinations  of  personal 
beauty,  drew  from  the  author  of  Evenings  in  Greece 
the  passionate  and  sprightly  strain,  commencing 
with  the  lines: — 

"When  the  Balaika  is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 
I'll  dance  the  Homaika  by  moonlight  with  thee, 
If  waves  then  advancing,  should  steal  o'er  our  track, 
Thy  white  feet  in  dancing,  shall  chase  them  all  back." 

The  dress  and  appearance  of  the  bride  were  pecu 
liarly  native  and  striking.  She  was  crowned  with 
a  wreath  of  white  flowers,  which  contrasted  beauti 
fully  with  the  jet  black  locks  of  her  hair  floating  be 
hind  in  glossy  ringlets  ;  her  dress  was  of  white  satin, 
with  short  sleeves,  and  cut  low  in  the  neck ; — over 
this  appeared  a  stomacher  of  scarlet,  richly  embroi 
dered,  encircling  and  sustaining  the  round  bust; 
her  dress  with  its  deep  and  well  adjusted  folds  de 
scended  only  a  little  below  the  knee,  where  it  was 
more  than  met  by  a  white  silk  stocking,  that  betray 
ed  a  small  round  ancle,  and  an  instep  that  seemed 
bounding  from  the  light  shoe.  Her  necklace  was  of 
pearl  ;  her  ear  ornaments  and  bracelets  of  cameo,  de 
licately  wrought  and  set  in  gold.  She  appeared  to 
be  about  sixteen  years  of  age — with  a  round  cheek 
of  deep  carnation — a  countenance  of  brunette  com 
plexion — eyes  black,  shaded  with  thick  silken  lashes, 
and  of  sparkling  brightness — an  upright  forehead, 


264  BRIDEGROOM. 

though  not  high — a  neck  of  smooth  and  graceful 
curve — a  stature  rather  low — a  form  not  slight  but 
symmetrical — and  a  hand  on  whose  tapering  fingers 
glittered  the  tokens  of  love  and  friendship. 

She  had  the  air  of  one,  who  has  just  passed  that 
period  of  life  where  the  lightness  and  gaiety  of  the 
heart  give  place  to  sympathies  of  deeper  tone,  and 
feelings  of  stronger  power.  Her  manner,  costume, 
and  person  alike  riveted  onr  attention,  and  though 
she  could  not  be  said  to  reach  the  perfection  of  grace 
and  beauty,  yet  I  was  not  surprised,  on  being  told 
that  the  commander  of  a  squadron  in  this  sea,  had 
recently  employed  a  limner  expressly  to  sketch  her 
picture.  But  to  be  rightly  appreciated,  she  would 
require  more  than  lies  in.  the  power  of  the  artist. 
There  was  something  in  the  flowing  of  the  full  soul, 
as  it  lighted  and  filled  her  countenance,  which  no 
pencil  could  express. 

The  bridegroom  was  a  good  looking  Greek,  of 
twenty-three  or  four — slightly  below  the  medium 
stature — with  a  compact  muscular  frame,  and  coun 
tenance  that  needed  not  the  aid  of  the  mustaches, 
that  curled  from  the  upper  lip,  to  give  it  expression. 
His  dress  was  the  flowing  Turkish  trowsers  of 
white,  confined  suddenly  and  closely  about  the  an 
cle — and  a  coat  of  blue,  in  the  form  of  the  spencer, 
deeply  embroidered  in  front.  His  manner  was  manly, 
frank  and  affable ; — on  being  presented  to  him,  he 
immediately  introduced  us  to  his  fair  bride,  and  in- 


GREEK    COSTUME.  265 

vitedus  into  his  well  furnished  house,  which  opened 
on  the  small  green.  We  were  here  served  with 
fruit,  cake,  sherbet,  coffee,  and  the  cordiality  of  the 
pipe. 

Our  conversation  was  carried  on  through  an  in 
terpreter,  which  left  the  ladies,  who  composed  a 
majority  of  the  circle,  quite  at  leisure  to  ponder  the 
dress  of  Mrs.  R.,  which  they  evidently  thought  very 
singular — wondering  no  doubt  why  it  descended  so 
low — why  her  head  was  protected  by  a  bonnet  in 
stead  of  a  veil — and  how  it  was  possible  for  her  form 
to  possess  its  symmetry,  without  the  visible  aid  of 
the  stomacher.  But  they  were  not  more  surprised 
at  a  novelty  of  costume  than  we  were  ;  I  must  say 
though,  had  the  bride  been  mine  I  should  have 
anticipated  with  no  pleasure,  in  any  country  or  com 
munity,  the  necessity  of  an  essential  change  in  the 
style  of  her  dress,  bating  the  shortness  of  the  petticoat. 
This  dress  in  its  outline,  is  what  it  was  two  thousand 
years  ago,  and  what  it  will  probably  be  two  thou 
sand  years  hence.  What  a  contrast  to  the  whimsi 
cal  fickleness  of  taste  in  my  own  country !  Our 
garments  instead  of  being  comely  on  some  future 
generation,  the  caprices  of  fashion  render  ridiculous 
even  on  our  own  backs;  indeed,  fashions  change 
with  such  an  electrical  rapidity  with  us,  that  if  the 
boy  who  brings  a  dress  from  the  milliner's  be  slow 
on  the  leg,  it  will  have  to  be  sent  back  to  be  con 
formed  to  ^some  new  freak  of  fancy,  or  some  more 
23 


266  ANECDOTE  OF    FRANKLIN. 

newly  discovered  model.  Our  taste  in  dress,  so  far 
from  aiding  a  permanent  nationality  of  character, 
is  a  mere  bubble, 

11  Which  a  breath  can  break  as  a  breath  hath  made." 

It  is  a  servile  imitation  of  the  fooleries  and  fopperies 
of  some  foreign  metropolis;  and  worse  than  this,  it 
is  sometimes  a  serious  submission  to  a  quiz,  played 
off  for  the  merriment  of  others  upon  our  aping 
vanity.  I  have  often  admired  the  good-humored 
reply  of  Franklin  to  his  daughter,  on  her  request  to 
be  gratified  with  an  article  of  fashionable  in  utility. 
While  that  philosopher  was  embassador  to  the  court 
of  France,  his  daughter  wrote  him  that  ostrich 
feathers  were  all  the  go  in  the  head-dress  of  the 
ladies,  and  requested  him  to  send  her  out  some  of 
the  first  quality.  The  honest  republican  replied — 
"  Catch  the  old  rooster,  my  dear  child,  and  take 
some  of  the  longest  feathers  from  his  tail,  they  will 
answer,  my  word  for  it,  every  purpose."  Were  a 
parent  now-a-days  to  tell  his  daughter  so,  she  would 
probably  fly  into  a  nunnery,  or  die  of  grief.  But  I 
ask  pardon  of  the  ladies — I  promised  not  again  to 
offend — and  I  can  say  in  conciliation,  that  they  are 
not  much  more  extravagant  and  frivolous  in  their 
taste  than  the  men.  And  we  have  this  disadvantage 
also,  that  we  lie  under  the  just  imputation  of  imitating 
their  worst  vagaries.  A  close  observer  of  the  variations 
occurring  in  the  style  and  shape  of  our  apparel,  cannot 


THE    BRIDE.  267 

but  remark,  that  we  look  to  the  ladies  as  truly  as  the 
sea  in  its  ebb  and  flow  looks  to  the  moon.  But  I 
must  hasten  on,  for  at  this  rate  my  story  will  never 
get  away  from  Milo,  —  it  will  die  here,  like  a  pilgrim 
that  has  never  reached  I  he  shrine  of  his  saint. 

But  I  forget  the  young  bride  —  and  should  I  thus 
forget  thee?  —  thou  who  didst  give  us  flowers  as  we 
parted? 

As  soft  as  falls  the  silken  shade, 

Let  every  sorrow  be, 
That  grief,  or  care,  or  hope  delayed, 

May  ever  cast  on  thee. 

And  let  each  joy  be  pure  and  bright, 

As  dew  on  infant  flowers  — 
A  tender  theme  of  new  delight 

To  cheer  thy  lonely  hours. 


And  gently  glide  thine  hours  away, 
As  music  from  the  string 

Of  woodland  lyre,  while  o'er  it  stray 
The  wandering  sweets  of  spring. 

And  as  a  sweet  melodious  lay 

Dies  on  the  still  of  even, 
So  let  thy  being  melt  away, 

And  mingle  into  heaven. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

Passage  from  Milo  to  Smyrna — Cape  Colonna — Temple  of  Minerva 
— Profession  of  Pirales — Island  of  Ipsara — Aspect  of  Scio — Mas 
sacre  of  the  Inhabitants — Conduct  of  the  Allies — Gulf  of  Smyrna 
— Ancient  Clazomenas—  Traits  of  the  Sailor. 

TAKING  two  intelligent  pilots  on  board,  so  that 
they  might  relieve  each  other  in  alternate  watches, 
we  weighed  anchor,  and  clearing  the  narrow  en 
trance  of  the  harbor,  were  once  more  running 
before  the  breeze.  The  next  morning  brought  us 
close  to  Cape  Colonna,  on  the  southern  extremity  of 
Attica — a  bold  promontory — crowned  with  the 
magnificent  remains  of  the  temple  of  Minerva.  We 
solicited  Capt.  Read  to  lie  to,  till  we  could  visit  these 
ruins.  A  boat  was  immediately  lowered,  and  we 
were  soon  on  shore — up  the  steep — and  among  the 
remains. 

We  found  twelve  columns  of  the  purest  penteli- 
can  marble,  with  their  entablatures  still  standing. 
Others  lying  around,  mingled  with  the  massive  frag 
ments  of  the  cell.  The  stateliness  and  Doric  sim 
plicity  of  these  columns,  with  the  extent  of  the  foun 
dations  on  which  the  edifice  reposed,  afforded  a 
noble  conception  of  its  original  beauty  and  grandeur. 


GREECE    AND    BYRON.  269 

It  required  but  little  effort  of  imagination,  with  what 
was  before  us,  to  fill  the  broken  outline,  rear  the 
prostrate  pillars,  extend  the  architrave,  and  per 
ceive  in  the  completion  of  the  whole,  a  temple  wor 
thy  of  the  best  days  of  Greece  ;  and  deserving  even 
the  high  encomium  which  Pericles  is  said  to  have 
passed  upon  it.  From  the  decisions  of  this  artist 
there  has  never  yet  been  found  a  just  ground  of 
appeal.  His  genius  was  an  oracle  to  which  nations 
listened,  arid  we  are  even  now  disinhuming  cities  to 
recover  the  sacred  sanctions  of  his  taste  and  judg 
ment.  In  architecture,  sculpture  and  poetry,  the 
world  has  lost  its  richest  specimens,  and  has  not  the 
power  to  restore  them ;  nor  will  this  power  ever  be 
realized,  unless  it  shall  awake  in  the  regenerated 
Greek.  But  for  the  present  let  this  subject  rest. 

On  one  of  the  pilasters  still  standing,  among  a 
multitude  of  names  unknown  to  song,  I  discovered 
one  that  was  a  brilliant  exception,  and  well  worthy 
of  its  place, — it  was  the  name  of  the  author  of 
Childe  Harold,  engraven  here  under  his  own  eye, 
in  his  pilgrimage  to  this  relic.  If  any  one  could 
without  profanation  presume  in  this  form  upon 
the  sacred  remains  of  ancient  art,  it  was  this  wan 
dering,  weeping,  and  admiring  minstrel.  He  not 
only  entertained  himself  a  profound  veneration  for 
these  remains,  but  he  inspired  millions  with  the 
same  sentiment.  Each  mouldering  fane,  deserted 
shrine  and  tottering  column  have  found  a  tongue  in 
23* 


270  CAPE   COLONNA. 

the  pathetic  and  eloquent  spirit  of  his  numbers. 
He  kneeled  amid  the  relics  of  a  ruined  race,  and  in 
the  eloquence  of  his  admiration  and  sorrow  touched 
an  electrical  chain  of  sympathy  that  has  kindled 
and  vibrated  in  all  lands.  He  finally  set  the  last 
and  decisive  seal  of  the  martyr  to  the  sincerity 
of  his  reverence  and  grief.  His  name  is  now  em 
balmed  among  ruins,  on  which  his  genius  has  cast 
the  splendors  of  a  fresh  immortality. 

Lingering  around  the  relic,  which  now  seems  to 
sanctify  Colonna,  I  found  myself  invaded  by  one 
deep  and  melancholy  sentiment — a  sentiment  of 
utter  desolation.  I  was  standing  where  thousands 
once  thronged  to  pay  their  festive  devotions,  where 
the  ancient  Sunium  embraced  its  happy  multitudes, 
where  the  eloquent  Plato,  with  his  serene  philoso 
phy,  soared  like  an  angel  with  his  golden  lyre  to 
heaven.  Now  not  a  human  being  to  be  seen,  not  a 
solitary  voice  to  be  heard,  and  not  even  a  sound 
stirring  to  relieve  the  unbroken  silence  of  the  place, 
except  the  hollow  moan  of  the  wave,  as  it  died  on 
the  desolate  shore.  I  could  have  sat  down  there 
and  wept  over  the  dark  destiny  of  man  ;  for  if  a  peo 
ple  so  inventive  in  monuments,  to  perpetuate  their 
power  and  splendor,  become  a  blank,  how  soon  will 
those  spots,  now  the  seats  of  refinement,  opulence 
and  gaiety,  be  changed  to  empty  sepulchres  !  and  the 
ruin  will  never  stop,  nor  will  it  ever  be  repaired. 
Babylon  is  still  a  desert,  arid  Palmyra  known  only 


SHIPWRECK    OF    FALCONER.  271 

to  the  wandering  Arab.  Other  continents  may 
perhaps  be  discovered,  and  other  islands  emerge  from 
the  ocean,  but  over  all  that  now  smiles  in  the  light 
of  the  sun,  the  dark  tide  of  ruin  and  death  moves  on 
with  a  slow  but  inevitable  tread. 

The  only  solace  in  our  doom  is  the  assurance 
that  nature  in  her  salient  and  self-restoring  power 
may  remain — that  the  same  sun  which  gilds  our 
palaces  will  gild  our  graves — that  the  same  sky 
which  pavilions  our  pomp  and  pride,  will  canopy 
our  dust.  But  this  cannot  benefit  us,  or  serve  to 
cheer  the  pilgrim,  who  may  ages  hence  wander  to 
our  tombs.  What  know  the  dead  who  were  sepul 
chred  here  of  the  surviving  light  and  influences  of 
nature  ?  It  is  of  no  moment  to  them  that  the  suc 
cession  of  morn  and  eve,  the  budding  spring  and 
mellow  autumn  are  still  repeated.  And  the  stranger 
who  pauses  here,  only  feels  a  deeper  sadness  at  see 
ing  the  wave  still  sparkle  on  its  strand,  and  the 
light  with  its  purple  and  gold  si  ill  fringing  the 
cliff,  while  all  else  only  bespeaks  decay  and  ruin. 

A  signal-gun  from  the  ship,  for  our  return, 
aroused  me  from  the  reverie  in  which  my  thoughts 
had  been  thus  gloomily  wandering.  On  reaching 
our  boat  we  passed  over  the  memorable  spot  where 
Falconer  was  wrecked — a  catastrophe  which  he  has 
converted  into  strains  of  the  most  poetic  and  touch 
ing  character.  This  hymning  mariner  found  the 
elements  of  his  poetry,  his  home,  and  his  grave  in 


272          CORSAIRS  AND  DESPOTS. 

the  ocean.  The  ship  in  which  he  finally  left  his 
native  shore  for  the  East  Indies  never  reached  her 
port.  She  was  arrested  on  her  way — how  long-  she 
struggled  with  the  tempest,  and  with  what  feelings 
they  whom  she  bore  met  their  doom,  are  secrets 
which  will  never  be  revealed  by  the  incommunica 
ble  sea.  Could  the  harp  of  the  poet  have  floated 
away  with  the  sad  story  of  his  death,  thousands 
would  now  be  listening,  weeping,  and  clinging  with 
increased  fondness  to  their  hearths.  There  is  over 
the  fate  of  those,  who  go  to  sea,  and  are  never  heard 
from  again,  a  tragical  uncertainty  and  horror,  which 
must  fill  the  most  apathetic  heart  with  emotion. 

Having  mounted  the  ship's  side  again,  orders 
were  immediately  given  to  fill  away,  and  we  were 
soon  moving  up  through  the  Doro  passage,  which 
lies  between  Negropont  and  Andros.  This  chan 
nel,  being  the  one  generally  preferred  by  merchant 
men  bound  to  Smyrna,  became  a  favorite  haunt 
for  pirates — a  class  of  men  who  took  upon  them 
selves  the  responsibility  of  collecting  a  sort  of  water 
tax,  for  which  they  have  been  much  scandalized  in 
this  censorious  world.  But  really,  I  do  not  after  all 
see  any  thing  so  remarkably  degrading  in  their  pro 
fession.  They  levy  a  contribution  and  exact  it  at 
the  peril  of  their  lives — kings  do  the  same,  but  with 
vastly  less  hazard  to  themselves — for  their  majes 
ties,  in  case  of  resistance  to  their  exactions,  have 
only  to  sit  in  their  palaces,  and  issue  an  order  to 


ISLAND    OF    ANDROS.  273 

some  inferior  agent  for  their  immediate  enforcement 
— while  the  corsair  has  to  enforce  his  demands  him 
self — and  is  frequently  battling  it  breast  to  breast, 
at  a  desperate  odds.  If  taken  himself,  instead  of 
taking  the  gold  of  his  opponent,  he  will  scorn  to 
crave  a  life  as  a  suppliant,  which  he  has  forfeited  as 
a  pirate, — whereas  a  king,  the  moment  he  becomes 
a  captive,  compounds  for  his  personal  safety,  by  trea 
sonably  betraying  his  subjects,  and  forfeiting  his 
realm.  I  think  the  advantages  of  dignity,  courage, 
and  self-respect,  decidedly  on  the  side  of  those  who 
levy  contributions  on  the  water,  upon  the  force  of 
their  own  steel  and  valor. 

Leaving  Negropont  on  the  left — a  fruitful  island 
abounding  in  the  grape,  olive,  orange,  citron  and 
pomegranite,  and  the  largest  in  the  Egean,  with  the 
exception  of  Crete — we  doubled  the  northern  cape 
of  Andros,  which  is  much  less  in  its  dimensions  than 
its  Negropontan  neighbor,  but  equally  fertile  in  its 
soil,  and  delicious  in  its  fruits.  The  ancients  owed 
this  island  an  unaccountable  spite,  and  christened 
two  of  its  tutelary  divinities  Poverty  and  Despair ; 
when  according  to  their  own  confessions  it  had  not 
only  a  beautiful  temple  dedicated  to  the  jolly  Bac 
chus,  but  a  fountain  near  it,  whose  waters  on  the  Ides 
of  January  tasted  so  very  like  wine,  that  the  most 
exquisite  connoisseur  could  not  tell  the  difference. 

Passing  on,  Ipsara  soon  appeared  on  our  larboard 
bow — a  small  island  of  wild  ragged  peaks  and  rock- 


274  ISLAND   OP    IPSARA. 

bound  shore.  Its  inhabitants,  in  their  recent  strug 
gle  for  independence,  exhibited  a  heroism  that  would 
not  have  disparaged  the  days  of  Leonidas.  After 
contending  with  their  swarming  foes,  till  every  ray 
of  hope  was  extinguished,  they  blew  up  their  forti 
fications — whelming  themselves  and  thousands  of 
their  enemies  in  instant  death.  Those  who  were  not 
within  the  works — to  escape  the  vengeance  or  lust 
of  the  Mussulman — threw  themselves  into  the  sea. 
The  mother  was  seen  on  every  clilT,  clasping  her 
infant  to  her  breast,  and  plunging  into  the  wave, 
with  her  shrieking  daughters  at  her  side.  Youth 
and  beauty,  maternal  tenderness  and  infant  sweet 
ness,  were  seen  for  days  floating  around  this  isle  on 
their  watery  bier  ; — a  sight  which  might  have  moved 
the  very  rocks  with  indignation  and  pity,  but  which 
the  Turk  looked  upon  with  triumph  and  pride.  The 
island  is  now  a  blackened  ruin — thus  let  it  remain, 
as  a  frightful  and  becoming  monument  of  the  deso 
lating  spirit  of  Islamism. 

Close  on  our  starboard  beam  lay  Scio,  once  a 
flourishing  and  populous  island,  now  another  naked 
and  ghastly  memorial  of  Moslem  vengeance.  At 
the  breaking  out  of  the  Revolution,  the  inhabitants, 
owing  to  their  removal  from  the  great  scene  of  ac 
tion,  to  the  complicated  character  of  their  com 
merce,  and  being  naturally  of  a  quiet  disposition,  de 
clined  involving  themselves  in  the  confederation. 
They  were  in  the  enjoyment  of  privileges,  to  which 


ISLAND    OF    SCIO.  275 

the  other  islanders  were  strangers,  and  they  very 
naturally  felt  a  reluctance  in  putting  these  blessings, 
small  as  they  were,  upon  the  hazard  of  a  die  that 
might  consign  them  to  utter  ruin,  without  perhaps 
benefiting  their  brethren. 

A  suspicion  at  length,  on  the  part  of  the  Aga  or 
military  Governor,  of  a  disposition  in  them  to  favor 
the  spirit  of  revolt  that  was  abroad,  put  an  end  to 
these  privileges,  and  a  system  of  the  most  oppressive 
violence  was  adopted.  To  these  atrocious  mea 
sures,  however,  they  unresistingly  submitted,  till 
their  wrongs,  increasing  with  their  forbearance,  at 
tained  an  aggravation  and  malignity  that  became  at 
last  insupportable.  Their  elders  and  opulent  citi 
zens  were  cast  into  prison  as  hostages — their  fields 
and  dwellings  plundered  by  mercenary  soldiers,  and 
the  sanctity  of  virtue  wantonly  outraged.  Still  they 
hesitated  in  adopting  the  desperate  alternative  of 
open  resistance,  and  hung  in  torturing  suspense 
till  roused  by  the  reckless  zeal  of  a  few  wandering 
Samians. 

They  were  without  an  organized  plan  of  opera 
tion, — without  the  advantages  of  discipline,  or  the 
implements  of  war,  but  arming  themselves  with 
such  weapons  as  their  forest  furnished,  they  rose  on 
their  oppressors.  Fortune  for  a  time,  under  all 
these  disadvantages,  seemed  to  favor  their  perilous 
determination  ;  but  the  alarm  having  been  given  to 
the  Admiral  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  who  was  supposed 


276  ISLAND   OF    SCIO. 

at  the  time  to  be  at  a  much  greater  distance,  he  im 
mediately  anchored  in  the  bay,  with  a  force  of  forty 
sail,  and  opened  all  their  batteries  on  the  devoted 
town.  The  scene  that  followed  has  no  parallel  in 
the  history  of  modern  warfare.  It  was  not  the  sup 
pression  of  a  rebellion,  but  the  total  extermination  of 
a  people,  who  had  ever  been  characterised  for  their 
amiable  and  forgiving  dispositions.  The  town  was 
taken,  sacked,  and  demolished — the  priests  and 
elders,  who  had  been  cast  into  prison  as  hostages, 
were  brought  out  and  impaled  alive — and  the  inha 
bitants  of  every  age  and  condition,  without  regard  to 
sex,  were  hunted  down  in  every  retreat,  and  massa 
cred  in  cold  blood — till  at  last,  the  whole  island,  so 
recently  teeming  with  life  and  beauty,  became  a  Gol 
gotha  of  groans  and  blood.  If  there  be  a  God  in 
heaven,  such  crimes  as  these  will  not  go  unpunish 
ed  !  The  retribution  may  linger,  but  it  will  come 
in  the  end  like  lightning  from  the  cloud. 

Let  the  man  who  can  reproach  the  retaliating 
spirit  of  the  Greek,  or  the  conduct  of  the  Allies  at 
Navarino,  visit  this  island.  Let  him  plant  his  foot 
where  the  flourishing  town  of  Scio  once  stood — and 
gaze  on  a  mangled  mass  of  ruins — let  him  stand 
where  the  Attic  college  rose,  with  its  library  of  thirty 
thousand  volumes,  and  its  assemblage  of  seven  hun 
dred  youth  receiving  the  elements  of  a  classic  edu 
cation,  and  be  presented  only  with  ashes — let  him 
grope  through  the  choked  up  streets  and  call  for  the 


RUINS    OP    SCIO.  27? 

once  thronging  and  happy  population,  and  hear  not 
a  voice  in  reply — let  him  wander  through  the  fields 
where  innumerable  vineyards  once  showered  their 
purple  store,  and  meet  with  only  the  bramble  and 
the  lizard — and  then  let  him  inquire  why  an  island  so 
populous  and  fruitful  as  this,  has  become  a  waste 
and  a  tomb?  Let  him  ask  what  crime  has  been 
committed  to  draw  down  this  desolating  curse  ? — 
And  let  the  dead  answer. — Because  we  offered  resis 
tance  to  wrongs  and  outrages  from  which  the  grave 
is  a  welcome  refuge  !  God  of  my  fathers  !  there 
was  a  time  when  enormities  like  these  would  have 
roused  up  a  spirit,  before  which  the  guilty  perpetra 
tor  would  have  sunk  in  shame  and  despair !  But 
we  coolly  sit  and  canvass  the  policy  of  a  measure 
that  would  prevent  a  repetition  of  these  brutalities. 
In  the  name  of  humanity,  what  is  religion  worth,  un 
less  it  lead  us  to  defend  the  innocent,  and  succor  the 
helpless  ?  Let  us  cast  off  the  name  of  Christianity, 
unless  we  can  perform  some  of  its  most  obvious  and 
imperative  duties.  If  we  cannot  show  ourselves 
worthy  of  our  calling,  let  us  cast  aside  the  mask, 
and  stand  confessed,  for  what  we  really  are.  Let  us 
cease  to  hug  a  profession  which  serves  only  to  be 
tray  others,  and  must  in  the  end  expose  us  to  the 
deepest  humiliation  and  reproach. 

I  ought  not,  perhaps,  to  linger  here,  yet  I  cannot 
but  ponder  as  I  pass  along,  arid  give  vent  to  feel 
ings  excited  by  objects  so  full  of  interest.     I  cannot 
24 


278  GULP   OF    SMYRNA. 

restrain  the  torrent  of  my  soul,  when  passing  a  spot 
that  has  been  thus  steeped  with  the  blood  of  the  great 
and  the  brave. '  I  wish  the  sighs,  agonies,  and  des 
pairing  shrieks,  of  which  this  island  was  the  scene, 
might  float  on  every  breeze  through  the  earth,  to 
sicken  men's  hearts  with  the  hateful  deformities  of 
war.  Could  the  sufferings  and  sorrows  of  which 
the  field  of  battle  has  been  the  source,  be  gathered 
up,  and  speak  in  their  collected  wretchedness,  the 
horrors  of  a  thousand  earthquakes  would  be  forgot 
ten,  amidst  the  lamentations  and  wailings  that  would 
then  sweep  through  the  habitations  of  mankind. 
God  formed  man  upright,  and  placed  him  in  a 
world  of  beauty  and  happiness  ;  but  he  has  profaned 
his  high  nature,  and  changed  his  dwelling  into  a 
charnel-house. 

But  to  resume  the  path  of  our  ship.  Leaving 
Metelin  on  our  larboard  quarter,  we  doubled  Cape 
Karabornu,  and  entered  the  gulf  of  Smyrna.  This 
arm  of  the  sea  strikes  up  some  fifty  miles  into  the 
main  land,  and  is  invaded  at  several  points  by  an 
abrupt  termination  of  some  mountain  range,  shoul 
dering  its  way  boldly  forward  with  its  stupendous 
steeps  of  forest  and  rock.  At  other  points,  a  cir 
cular  sweep  of  small  islands,  rising  near  the  shore 
and  bending  into  the  gulf,  subserve  the  purposes  of 
the  mole,  and  give  an  air  of  varied  beauty  to  the 
whole.  On  one  of  these  islands,  the  first  in  a  small 
chain  that  swell  to  the  right  as  we  pass  up,  stood 


ANCIENT    CLAZOMEN.E.  279 

the  ancient  Clazomenae.  In  its  day  it  had  the 
aspect  of  a  neat  floating  city — the  dwellings  rising 
over  the  oval  curve  of  its  form,  with  light  and  beau 
tiful  effect.  The  pier  connecting  it  at  a  distance  of 
one  fourth  of  a  mile  with  the  main,  constructed  by 
Alexander,  is  still  standing,  and  though  dilapidated, 
is  sufficiently  entire  to  subserve  still  the  purposes  of 
its  original  construction. 

The  Clazomenians,  however,  were  in  course  of 
time  forced  to  relinquish  their  isle  of  palaces,  to 
escape  from  the  annoying  visits  of  the  pirates  of 
Tino.  This  was  very  wrong  in  the  Tinoan  cor 
sair  ;  his  familiarity  any  where  is  a  great  liberty, 
and  he  should  not  extend  his  freedom  to  the  land. 
It  was  a  breach  of  good  breeding  which  can  never 
be  excused,  especially  as  his  obtrusiveness  was 
ultimately  the  means  of  leaving  to  this  island  only 
the  Mosaic  pavements,  which  are  still  the  wonder  of 
the  traveler. 

Passing  Clazomenae,  which  now  in  its  desolate 
beauty,  bears  the  name  of  him  who  once  dwelt  in 
Patmos  ; — passing  near  by  the  small  town  of  Vourla, 
standing  on  its  two  hills,  from  which  the  Turks 
and  Franks  look  at  each  other,  with  feelings  and 
habits  that  will  amalgamate  when  their  hills  rush, 
together ; — passing  the  excellent  and  convenient  foun 
tain  where  our  ships  replenish  their  exhausted  tanks, 
breathing  a  blessing  as  they  depart  to  that  article  in 
the  Mussulman's  faith  which  inculcates  these  hospi- 
able  provisions  for  the  wayfaring  and  weary; — 


280  TRAITS    OP    THE    SAILOR. 

passing  the  neglected  fortress  which  was  posted  here 
to  command  the  pass,  with  its  guns  of  ostentatious 
calibre,  and  huge  marble  balls  piled  around  the  low 
embrasure,  but  which  with  all  its  threatening  malig 
nity,  like  our  unfortunate  Ticonderoga,  may  be  over 
awed  and  silenced  from  a  neighboring  height  ; — 
passing  the  invading  shoals,  which  the  Hermus,  in 
strange  forgetfulness  of  its  classic  purity,  is  deposit 
ing,  and  which,  if  the  sad  prophecies  of  many  shrewd 
observers  prove  true,  will  one  day  stagnate  the 
gulf; — passing  many  woody  steeps,  where  the  hunts 
men  are  still  wont  to  chase  the  wild  boar  and  goat, 
and  a  succession  of  valleys,  with  their  groves  of  the 
olive,  the  fig,  the  almond,  the  pomegranate,  with 
the  trailing  grape, — we  came  at  last  in  front  of 
Smyrna,  crowning  the  head-water,  and  giving  that 
sort  of  plump  satisfaction,  which  one  feels  in  know 
ing  that  he  has  arrived  indisputably  at  the  end  of 
his  journey. 

Yet  strange  as  it  may  seem,  one  week  will  not 
have  elapsed,  before  the  crew  of  this  ship  will  begin 
to  manifest  some  of  their  roving  impulses. 

A  sailor  ever  loves  to  be  in  motion, 

Roaming  about,  he  scarce  knows  where  or  why; 

He  looks  upon  the  dim  and  shadowy  ocean 
As  his  home,  abhors  the  land  ;  even  the  sky, 

Boundless  and  beautiful,  has  naught  to  please, 

Except  some  clouds,  which  promise  him  a  breeze. 

He  makes  a  friend  where'er  he  meets  a  shore,  ^ 
One  whom  he  cherishes  with  some  affection; 

But  leaving  port,  he  thinks  of  her  no  more, 
Unless  it  be  in  some  severe  reflection 

Upon  his  wickt-d  ways — then  with  a  sigh 

Resolves  on  reformation  ere  he  die. 


TRAITS    OF    THE    SAILOR.  281 

He  is  a  child  of  mere  impulse  and  passion, 
Loving  his  friends,  and  generous  to  his  foes, 

And  fickle  as  the  most  ephemeral  fashion, 
Save  in  the  cut  and  color  of  his  clothes, 

And  in  a  set  of  phrases,  which  on  land 

The  wisest  head  could  never  understand. 

He  thinks  his  dialect  the  very  best 

That  ever  sailed  from  any  human  lip, 
And  whether  in  his  prayers,  or  at  a  jest, 

Employs  the  terms  for  managing  a  ship — 
And  even  in  death  would  up  the  helm, 
In  hope  to  clear  the  breaker-beaten  realm. 

An  order  given,  and  he  obeys  of  course, 
Tho'  'twere  to  run  his  ship  upon  the  rocks — 

Capture  a  squadron  with  a  boat's  crew  force — 
Or  batter  down  the  massive  blocks 

Of  some  huge  fortress  with  a  swivel,  pike. 

Pistol,  aught  that  will  throw  a  ball,  or  strike. 

He  never -shrinks,  whatever  may  betide; 

His  weapon  may  be  shivered  in  his  hand,' 
His  last  companion  shot  down  at  his  side, 

Still  he  maintains  his  firm  and  desperate  stand — 
Bleeding  and  battling — with  his  colors  fast 
As  nail  can  bind  them  to  his  shattered  mast. 

Such  men  fall  not  unmourned — their  winding-sheet 

May  be  the  ocean's  deep  unresting  wave ; 
Yet  o  er  this  grave  will  wandering  winds  repeat 

The  dirge  of  millions  for  the  fallen  brave; 
While  each  high  deed  survives  in  holier  trust 
Than  those  consigned  to  mound  or  marble  bust. 

I  love  the  sailor— his  eventful  life — 

His  generous  spirit— his  contempt  of  danger — 

His  firmness  in  the  gale,  the  wreck  and  strife; 
And  tho'  a  wild  and  reckless  ocean -ranger, 

God  grant  he  make  that  port,  when  life  is  o'er, 

Where  storms  are  hushed,  and  billows  break  no  more. 

24* 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

Smyrna— Its  Seamen— It  Motley  Population— The  Tartar-Janisa- 
ry— Modern  Warfare — Encounters  in  threading  the  Streets — 
Fruit  Market— Bazars— Greek  Girls — Turkish  Burial-ground — 
The  Child  unacquainted  with  Death, 

OUR  ship  was  now  riding  quietly  at  anchor,  be 
fore  Smyrna ;  and  I  was  casting  about  to  catch 
a  few  of  the  singular  sights  and  incidents  of  flood 
and  field.  The  quay  was  lined  with  vessels  bear 
ing  the  flags  of  different  nations — clearly  indicating 
the  commercial  importance  of  the  place.  It  gave  me 
feelings  of  peculiar  pleasure,  to  see  here  in  this 
"distant  orient,"  the  stars  of  my  own  country  float 
ing  independently  among  crowns  and  crescents.  A 
considerable  portion  of  the  craft  were  the  Levantine 
feluccas — confining  the  utmost  range  of  their  nau 
tical  daring  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean — 
seldom  venturing  out  sight  of  land — and  thus  by 
this  strand-keeping  anxiety,  encountering  a  thou 
sand  perils  from  which  the  open  sea  is  exempt.  The 
Levantine  sailor  is  as  constant  and  stationary  in  his 
habits  as  are  the  rocks  on  which  he  is  so  frequently 
wrecked.  He  constructs  his  vessel  after  the  same 
model  which  was  observed  centuries  ago,  and  navi- 


MARINO    OF    SMYRNA.  283 

gates  her  as  anxiously  from  island  to  island,  or  close 
along  the  coast,  as  did  the  Argonauts  iheir  crowded 
ship  in  search  of  Colchos.  His  craft  with  its  wedge- 
like  stem,  and  triangular  stern,  has  upon  it  every 
evidence  of  rudeness  and  haste — it  is  just  such  a 
thing  as  mariners,  cast  upon  some  forlorn  coast, 
would  drive  together.  Yet  this  ill-shaperi  waddler 
is  made  to  float  in  the  dream  of  the  classic  poet, 
gracefully  as  the  motion  of  a  swan  on  the  breast  of 
a  lake.  How  poetic  illusion  vanishes,  when  the 
reality  comes  up  ! 

Among  nearer  objects  onshore — the  Marino  first 
attracts  the  eye.  It  is  bordered  by  a  range  of  Consu 
lar  residences,  and  is  constantly  trod  by  a  bustling 
crowd,  with  every  variety  of  dialect  and  costume 
that  have  obtained  since  Babel  was  confounded,  and 
Joseph's  coat  of  many  colors  stitched  together. 
Smyrna  is  said  to  contain  a  more  numerous  and 
vivid  representation  of  national  character  and  pecu 
liarities,  than  any  other  city  in  the  world — and  I 
believe  it ;  for  I  have  never  read  or  dreamed  of  any 
communities,  except  those  in  the  moon,  that  are  not 
appropriately  represented  here.  This  motley  crowd 
have  also  no  tendency  whatever  to  amalgamation 
— they  are  as  distinct  in  feature,  language,  and  hab 
its  of  life,  as  if  they  had  been  but  yesterday,  by  some 
tremendous  convulsion  in  nature,  thrown  together 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  I  have  stood 
by  the  hour  together,  displaying  my  want  of  good 


284  TURK    AND    GREEK. 

breeding,  in  laughing  at  the  ringed,  streaked  and 
speckled  throng  as  they  went  by — each  uttering  a 
distinct  language — and  making  in  the  whole  a  cho 
rus,  embracing  every  sound,  from  the  whispering  of 
the  reed  in  the  wind,  to  the  crack  in  the  thunder 
cloud. 

In  appearance  and  movement  the  Turk  is  the 

most  majestic  and  imposing.  His  frame  is  portly 
arid  muscular,  indicating  in  every  look  and  motion, 
a  life  of  ease  and  unconcern.  His  green  turban 
rolls  in  rich  pomp  about  his  head  ;  his  blue  embroi 
dered  spenser  descends  into  a  broad  red  sash,  which 
encircles  his  waist — supporting  at  the  same  time  his 
mounted  pistols  and  jeweled  yataghan  ;  his  white 
trowsers  flow  full  and  free  to  the  gathering  ancle, 
where  the  green  slipper  receives  the  foot  and  termin 
ates  the  variety.  He  moves  on  with  a  slow,  dignified 
step,  allowing  to  no  object  even  the  compliment  of 
an  oblique  glance — with  a  countenance  of  impertur 
bable  gravity,  betraying  in  its  composure  that  self- 
complacent  confidence,  which  leads  you  to  suppose 
that  he  is  confident  of  going,  whatever  may  betide, 
to  the  seventh  heaven  of  the  Prophet.  Near  him 
strides  the  Armenian  with  his  large  brown  calpec, 
snuff-colored  gown,  and  red  boot,  meditating  on  some 
new  banking  scheme,  or  whispering  to  himself  some 
unfamiliar  terms,  which  he  may  have  occasion  to  use 
in  the  office  as  dragoman.  Then  follows  the  Jew 
in  his  careless,  promiscuous  attire,  without  weapons, 


TARTAR-JANISARY.  285 

but  ready  to  purchase  out  all  Smyrna  for  you,  at  a 
trifling  advance  beyond  the  original  cost.  Then 
darts  past  the  Greek  in  his  red  cap,  round  jacket,  and 
ample  kilts,  twisting  his  mustaches,  or  replenishing 
his  pipe,  and  snapping  his  eyes  around,  as  if  some 
sudden  peril,  or  new  scheme  of  cunning  had  occur 
red  to  him.  Then  dashes  past  the  Tartar- Janisary 
in  his  stiff  capote,  with  his  trusty  weapons  in  their 
place,  defiance  and  fidelity  in  his  eye,  and  on  a  steed 
of  quick  hoof,  leading  some  party  of  travelers  to 
Sardis,  Ephesus,  Constantinople,  or  any  where  else 
that  their  curiosity  or  interest  may  require.  There 
is  something  about  this  wild  being,  that  strikes  the 
most  careless  observer ; — it  is  not  his  equipage  so 
much  as  his  bearing,  and  the  fierce  unalterable  de 
cision  and  energy  which  flashes  from  his  eye.  He 
looks  as  one  whom  you  could  rely  upon  in  an  hour  of 
peril  and  conflict  —  whom  you  would  like  to  have  at 
your  side,  if  way-laid  by  robbers — and  who  would 
resolutefy  deal  the  deadly  blow,  though  but  a  frag 
ment  of  his  blade  remained.  An  army  composed 
of  such  men  would  make  every  disputed  field  and 
pass  a  Marathon,  or  Thermopylae ;  and  I  am  not 
sure  but  that  the  interests  of  humanity  would  be  con 
sulted,  by  such  inevitable  alternatives.  Wars  would 
be  more  bloody,  but  they  would  be  of  less  duration, 
and  occur  with  vastly  less  frequency. 

We  have  now  so  much  marching  and  counter 
marching — so  much  scouting  and  skirmishing — so 


286  MODERN    WARFARE. 

much  shooting  behind  the  bush,  bramble  and  breast 
work — so  much  rallying  and  running, — the  great  and 
solemn  "  note  of  preparation"  all  the  while  sounding, 
that  our  wars  are  as  long  and  doubtful  as  the  siege  of 
Troy.  In  the  mean  time  hundreds  are  dying — 
some  from  random  shots  and  sallies — some  from 
disease  and  deprivations  incident  to  camp-life — some 
from  having  deserted,  others  from  ennui,  and  not  a 
few  from  potulency.  The  difference  is,  that  in 
one  case  men  die  at  once  and  in  the  mass — in  the 
other  they  die  singly  and  by  inches ;  and  I  leave 
it  for  amateurs  in  gun-powder  and  gold-lace  to  de 
termine  which  involves  the  greatest  expense  of  trea 
sure  and  blood.  '  For  my  own  part,  I  am  in  favor  of 
carrying  the  art  of  war  to  such  a  degree  of  perfec 
tion  and  despatch,  that  the  fate  of  a  Waterloo  or 
Austerlitz  may  be  decided  in  fifteen  minutes,  and 
then  let  the  survivors  go  home  and  attend  to  their 
domestic  and  civil  concerns.  As  for  naval  engage 
ments,  I  have,  just  now,  but  very  little  to  say  on 
that  subject.  It  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  sunk, 
and  it  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  captured :  but 
whether  victory  or  death  is  to  be  the  result,  let  it  come 
at  once, — no  apprehensive  maneuvering — no  play 
ing  off  and  on — no  wearing  and  tacking — no  nice  cal 
culations  of  relative  force — be  the  future  a  repetition 
of  the  past — lay  the  ship  gallantly  to  her  place — and 
then  triumph,  or  sink,  as  the  tide  of  battle  may  turn. 
I  did  not  think,  when  the  Tartar  dashed  past  me, 


STREETS    OP    SMYRNA.  287 

that  the  daring  fierceness  of  his  eye  would  lead  me 
into  a  lecture  on  military  arid  naval  tactics.  But 
our  thoughts  are  like  the  enchanter's  birds,  flying 
into  whatever  quarter  of  the  earth  or  sea,  towards 
which  the  wand  is  pointed.  And  really,  I  should 
be  willing  to  have  mine  wander  almost  any  where, 
to  get  rid  of  the  narrow  and  dirty  alleys  of  Smyrna. 
I  found  myself,  in  threading  some  of  them,  in  a  pre 
dicament  truly  unbecoming  a  gentleman — who, 
if  Shakspeare's  definition  be  good  authority,  is  one 
that  "  holds  large  discourse,  looking  well  before  and 
after."  I  had  nothing  to  discourse  to,  unless  it  was 
dogs  and  dirt  and  dingy  dwellings, — except  now  and 
then,  when  a  form  moved  past  me,  wrapped  in  a 
white  sheet  and  close  vision,  but  coming  in  such  a 
"  questionable  shape,"  I  could  not  speak  it ;  it  re 
quired  more  nerve  than  it  would  to  accost  a  spectre 
in  the  silence  and  gloom  of  a  sepulchre.  I  was  told 
that  each  of  these  walking  phantoms  was  a  Turkish 
female  !  "  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend 
us  !"  If  death  himself  had  invented  a  garb,  it  could 
not  have  been  more  frightful !  How  the  harem  can 
need  any  protection  beyond  it,  is  inconceivable ; 
had  the  arch-deceiver,  on  his  first  visit  to  earth  en 
countered  Eve  in  such  a  disguise,  he  would  have 
run  howling  out  of  Eden.  What  a  world  is  this  in 
which  we  live ! — beautiful  in  its  origin,  replete  in 
its  resources,  but  darkened  and  disfigured  by  the 
jealousies  and  passions  of  man. 


288  CAMELS    AND   PORTERS. 

Another  source  of  trouble  in  threading  the  nar 
row  streets  of  Smyrna,  is  encountering  loaded  cam 
els  that  corne  along  in  strings  of  one  or  two  hundred 
fastened  together,  and  led  by  a  little  jackass,  who  ap 
pears  not  more  foolish  and  sulky  than  you  feel  in 
being  obliged  to  squat  down  upon  the  first  stone, 
to  escape  a  worse  fate  from  the  sweeping  range  of 
their  enormous  sacks.  There  is  no  alternative  left 
you,  but  either  to  retreat,  or  squat ;  and  if  you  de 
termine  on  the  latter,  you  must  sit  there  till  the  whole 
interminable  file  have  crept  past.  You  may  then 
get  up  and  move  on,  but  before  you  have  got  ten 
roods,  you  will  run  a  narrow  chance  of  being 
knocked  down  by  the  poking  end  of  some  long 
plank,  or  beam,  borne  by  a  bent  porter,  whose  dis 
tance  from  the  projecting  extremity  of  his  burthen, 
frequently  prevents  your  hearing  the  dead  moan, 
which  he  gives  as  the  only  admonition  of  his  com 
ing.  His  untimely  warning,  though,  can  be  of  very 
little  service  or  consolation  to  you — picking  yourself 
up  from  the  filth  of  the  street,  after  having  ruined 
a  coat,  on  which  your  tailor  exerted  the  highest  skill 
of  his  profession.  These  porters  are  usually  Turks, 
who  pay  a  liberal  bounty  for  the  privilege  of  their 
occupation.  The  weight  which  they  carry  is  in 
credible — it  inclines  one  to  some  confidence  in  the 
correctness  of  Doctor  Nisborn's  theory — that  the 
muscles  of  the  human  system  are  capable  of  being 
brought  to  such  a  degree  of  strength  and  endurance, 


BAZARS    OF    SMYRNA.  289 

that  a  man  might  carry  the  globe  on  his  back,  could 
he  only  find  a  platform  beneath  on  which  to  walk. 

The  most  bustling  and  attractive  spot  in  Smyr 
na  is  within  the  bazars,  occupying  the  centre  of  the 
city.  These  shops,  forming  a  succession  of  low  arid 
convenient  arcades,  contain  all  the  finery  and  fop 
pery  of  the  East;  and  are  constantly  thronged  by 
the  natives,  who  appear  to  find  half  their  pleasures 
and  excitements  in  purchasing  trinkets  and  gew 
gaws.  Among  the  most  interesting  of  these  purchas 
ers,  are  the  Greek  girls,  chattering,  as  you  often  find 
them,  to  some  old  Turk,  Armenian,  or  Jew,  over 
the  queer  beauty  of  some  trifle,  and  laughing  with 
a  glee  that  makes  you  good  natured  with  all  the 
world.  Their  flashing  eyes,  and  sprightly  conver 
sation,  with  the  fresh  gladness  which  fills  each  fea 
ture,  affords  you  more  pleasure  than  you  can  expe 
rience  among  the  most  refined  circles. 

I  began  to  think  that  I  had  found  nature  once 
more,  and  that,  too,  where  it  was  least  and  last  to 
be  expected.  But  the  grave  and  demure  manner 
of  the  Turk,  seated  on  his  small  carpet,  around 
which  his  glittering  articles  were  exposed  for 
sale,  cooled  a  little  my  effervescing  enthusiasm: 
He  never  smiled,  he  never  looked  up,  nor  appeared 
to  take  the  slightest  interest  either  in  the  fair  pur 
chasers  or  the  bargain.  What  a  stupid  block  is 
this  !  I  exclaimed. — There  is  neither  sentiment,  civil 
ity,  nor  common  reason  in.  him ! — Why,  I  would 
25 


290  TURKISH    MERCHANT*. 

part  with  the  locks  from  my  temples  for  the  mere 
smiles  of  such  sweet  creatures !  But  this  uncon 
scionable  fellow  sits  here  as  untouched  and  uncon 
cerned  as  if  he  were  speculating  with  grave-stones. 
I  must  not,  however,  be  too  severe  on  the  Turk,  as 
he  atones  in  some  measure  for  his  want  of  gallantry 
in  never  recommending  his  articles  for  what  they 
are  not — -and  never  in  his  change  cheating  his  young 
customers.  This  is  more  than  can  be  said  generally 
of  the  Franks  ; — they  are  all  smiles  and  deception, 
politeness  and  imposition.  So  the  Turk,  though 
vastly  less  attractive  and  engaging,  is  the  safer  man 
to  deal  with  ;  yet  among  the  shopping  ladies  of  my 
own  country,  he  would  not  sell  the  value  of  five  far 
things  a  year ;  for  he  holds  no  chat,  exchanges  no 
smiles,  no  glances,  and  pays  no  compliments.  He 
coolly  presents  the  articles  inquired  for, — if  you 
purchase,  well, — if  not,  it  is  a  matter  of  your  con 
cern,  not  his.  Our  ladies  would  undoubtedly  call 
occasionally  at  his  shop,  but  it  would  be  to  look  at 
his  beard,  disturb  the  slumber  of  his  goods,  vex  his 
mdolence,  and  laugh  at  his  self-complacent  tacitur 
nity.  But  though  ever  so  silent  and  supercilious, 
there  are  at  least  two  things  in  which  you  may 
trust  a  Turk  all  lengths — money  and  malice — in 
both  he  will  be  sure  to  render  you  your  full  due,  be 
the  consequences  what  they  may  to  himself. 

The  fruit  market  forms  another  object  of  interest 
in  Smyrna.     It   is   the  true   temple  of  Pomona. 


FRUIT    MARKET.  291 

You  can  scarcely  name  a  product  of  the  garden, 
field,  or  grove,  that  is  not  to  be  found  here,  with  a 
delicious  richness  of  flavor  unknown  to  other 
climes.  The  grape,  apple,  orange,  with  the  fig, 
pomegranate,  and  melon,  seem  to  melt  in  the  mouth, 
and  flood  the  taste  with  a  gushing  richness,  which 
lingers  there,  like  the  absorbing  sensations  of  the 
infant  receiving  its  nourishment  at  the  earliest  and 
purest  fountain  of  life.  Even  the  Turk — the  so 
lemn  tranquillity  of  whose  countenance  is  seldom 
disturbed  by  an  emotion  of  pleasure — as  the  ripe 
peach  of  Sangiac,  or  the  luscious  melon  of  Cassaba, 
flows  over  the  palate,  will  look  up,  as  if  he  had 
already  gained  a  portion  of  his  future  paradise. 

There  is  one  species  of  fruit  here,  than  which  the 
charm  of  the  serpent  is  not  more  fascinating  and 
deadly — it  is  the  apricot,  with  its  blushing  beauty 
and  tempting  flavor;  but  he  who  eats  it  jeopards 
his  life.  It  is  called  here  by  the  natives  the 
Kill-Frank,  and  so  it  nearly  proved  to  me ; — I  be 
gan  to  think  that  I  had  indeed  reached  the  end 
of  my  journey — but  its  tumultuous  agonies  slowly 
passed  off,  and  I  am  still  living,  thank  hea 
ven,  to  stamp  it  in  all  its  hypocritical  charms 
with  my  unqualified  denunciation.  There  is  no 
thing  so  deceptive  and  fatal,  unless  it  be  the  mint- 
julip,  which  some  of  our  giddy  young  men  take 
before  breakfast  to  reinstate  their  nerves,  after  the 
potulent  excesses  of  the  night  previous.  They  are 


292  BURIAL-GROUND. 

both  fit  only  for  those  who  have  suicidal  inten 
tions  ;  yet  if  a  man  has  really  determined  to  destroy 
himself,  perhaps  the  julip  is  the  preferable  instru 
ment,  for  the  victim,  in  his  drunken  delirium,  will 
not  be  unavailingly  visited  by 

"  The  late  repentance  of  that  hour, 
When  Penitence  hath  lost  her  power 
To  tear  one  terror  from  the  grave, 
And  will  not  soothe,  and  cannot  save." 

The  Turkish  burial-ground  forms  one  of  the 
most  green  and  fresh  features  in  the  landscape 
around  Smyrna.  It  lies  in  quiet  retirement  from  the 
noise  and  empty  parade  of  the  town,  and  seems  in  its 
own  stillness  to  intimate  to  man  the  vanity  of  those 
objects  which  so  engross  his  cares,  and  fever  his 
existence.  It  is  densely  shaded  with  the  cypress — 
that  appropriate  and  beautiful  tree,  which  appears 
to  have  been  given  to  guard  the  tomb,  and  furnish 
in  its  unfading  verdure  a  type  of  our  immortality. 
The  sepulchral  monument  is  a  simple  column  of 
white  marble,  surmounted  with  a  tastefully  sculp 
tured  turban,  and  bearing  frequently  a  brief  sen 
tence  from  the  Koran.  No  titles  are  recorded — no 
virtues  proclaimed — it  is  what  it  should  be,  a  touch 
ing  memorial  of  our  own  frailty.  No  one  can  lin 
ger  here  through  a  still  summer's  evening — the  soft 
wind  sighing  through  the  branches  of  the  cypress — 
the  moon-light  touching  the  marbles  of  the  dead — 
the  wave  of  the  bay  dying  with  a  melancholy  mur 
mur  on  the  shore— without  departing  the  wiser 


BURIAL-GROUND.  293 

and  better.  Standing  here  at  this  hushed  hour  with 
these  memorials,  and  dying  whispers  of  nature 
around  me,  the  world,  with  its  strife,  and  pride,  and 
noisy  pleasures,  appeared  hut  as  the  vanishing  away 
of  some  troubled  dream.  Would  that  the  years 
which  remain  might  partake  of  the  spirit  of  this 
scene.  Why  should  life  be  exhausted  in  pursuit  of 
that  which  is  so  soon  to  convince  us  that  it  is  only 
shadow ! 

The  burial-ground  of  the  Armenian,  like  that  of 
the  Moslem,  removed  a  short  distance  from  the 
town,  and  sprinkled  with  green  trees,  is  a  favorite 
resort  not  only  for  the  bereaved,  but  those  whose 
feelings  are  not  thus  darkly  overcast.  I  met  there 
one  morning  a  little  girl  with  a  half  playful  counte 
nance,  busy  blue  eye,  and  sunny  locks,  bearing 
in  one  hand  a  small  cup  of  china,  and  in  the  other  a 
wreath  of  fresh  flowers.  Feeling  a  very  natural 
curiosity  to  know  what  she  could  do  with  these 
bright  things  in  a  place  that  seemed  to  partake  so 
rryich  of  sadness,  I  watched  her  light  motions. 
Reaching  a  retired  grave,  covered  with  a  plain  mar 
ble  slab,  she  emptied  the  seed— which  it  appeared 
the  cup  contained — into  the  slight  caveties  which 
had  been  scooped  out  in  the  corners  of  the  tablet, 
and  laid  the  wreath  on  its  pure  face.  "  And  why," 
I  inquired,  "  my  sweet  girl,  do  you  put  the  seed  in 
those  little  bowls  there  ?"  "  It  is  to  bring  the  birds 
here,"  she  replied,  with  a  half  wondering  look— 
25* 


294  BURIAL-GROUND. 

• 

11  they  will  light  on  this  tree,"  pointing  to  the  cypress 
above,  "  when  they  have  eaten  the  seed,  and  sing." 
"  To  whom  do  th?y  sing?"  I  asked — "to  each  other 
— to  you  ?"  "  O  no,"  she  quickly  replied — "  to  my  sis 
ter — she  lies  there."  "  But  your  sister  is  dead  ?"  "  O 
yes,  sir,  but  she  hears  all  the  birds  sing."  "  Well,  if 
she  hears  the  birds  sing,  she  cannot  see  that  wreath 
of  flowers?"  "  But  she  knows  I  put  it  there — I  told 
her  before  they  took  her  away  from  our  house,  I 
would  come  and  see  her  every  morning."  "You 
must,"  I  continued,  "  have  loved  that  sister  very 
much,  but  you  will  never  talk  with  her  any  more, 
never  see  her  again."  "  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  with 
a  brightened  look,  "  I  shall  see  her  always  in  heaven.'7 
"  But  she  has  gone  there  already,  I  hope."  "  No, 
she  stops  under  this  tree,  till  they  bring  me  here, 
and  then  we  are  going  to  heaven  together."  "  But 
she  is  gone  already,  my  child — you  will  meet  her 
there,  I  trust — but  certainly  she  is  gone,  and  left 
you  to  come  afterwards."  She  looked  at  me — her 
eyes  began  to  swim — I  could  have  clasped  her  to 
my  heart. 

Come  here,  my  sweet  one — be  it  so, 

That  'neath  this  cypress  tree, 
Thy  sister  sees  those  eyes  o'erflow, 

And  fondly  waits  for  thee, — 

That  still  she  hears  the  young:  birds  sing, 

And  feels  the  chaplet's  bloom — 
Which  every  morn  thy  light  hands  bring, 

To  dress  her  early  tomb. 

And  when  they  bring  thee  where  she  lies, 

To  share  her  narrow  rest — 
Like  sister  seraphs  may  ye  rise 

To  join  the  bright  and  blest. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

Smyrna  continued — Religious  Sects — Visit  to  Governor — His  Palace 
— Pipes— Horses— Troops— Coffee-house  Scene — Prayers  of  the 
Mussulmen — Martyrdom  of  Polycarp — Birth-place  of  Homer — 
Parting  with  the  Reader. 

THE  mosques,  synagogues  and  churches  of 
Smyrna  are  very  numerous,  but  without  any  archi 
tectural  pretensions.  In  the  first,  the  Mussulman, 
after  having  performed  his  ablutions,  lays  aside  his 
slippers,  and  bows  himself  with  an  air  of  profound 
veneration  towards  Mecca.  In  the  second,  the  Jew 
chants  with  a  deep  and  solemn  tone  his  Hebraic 
harmonies,  and  kneels  with  mournful  confidence 
towards  Jerusalem.  In  the  last,  the  Greek  crosses 
himself,  arid  looks  with  penitential  solicitude  to  his 
patron  saint,  to  the  blessed  Virgin,  or  to  that  great 
Spirit,  the  universality  of  whose  presence  none  can 
escape.  In  neither  sect  is  there  much  tolerance  to 
wards  apostates  from  their  faith.  The  follower  of  Mo 
hammed,  who  deserts  his  faith,  looses  his  head  ;—  the 
deluded  child  of  Abraham,  who  ceases  to  expect  the 
promised  Messiah,  goes  to  the  bastinado  or  the  dun 
geon  ; — and  the  unreflecting  Greek,  who  may  as 
sume  the  turban,  or  turn  away  from  the  altar  of  the 
Madonna,  forfeits  the  friendship  of  his  relatives, 
and  secures  the  scorn  of  his  foes.  A  convert  from 


296  TRAITS    OF    THE    TURK. 

either  sect  is  looked  upon  by  his  brethren  as  an 
apostate  from  truth,  hope  and  heaven.  He  has  no 
safety  or  repose,  but  in  an  escape  to  other  lands, 
where  the  rights  of  conscience  are  recognized  and 
respected.  Yet  while  this  tin  mingled  hatred  and 
cruelty  are  visited  upon  apostacy,  these  different  sects 
manifest  towards  each  other,  in  their  collective  ca 
pacities,  a  forbearance  and  civility  that  is  truly  com 
mendable.  Their  indignation  appears  to  light  sim 
ply  on  those  who  have  swerved  from  their  own 
faith. 

The  Turk,  while  he  beheads  his  brother,  who 
may  have  ceased  to  call  on  the  Prophet,  has  appa 
rently  no  objection  that  the  Jew  should  still  expect 
his  deliverer,  or  that  the  Greek  should  still  cross 
himself  at  the  shrine  of  his  saint.  His  tolerance 
flows  not  so  much  from  that  charity  which  "  suffereth 
long,  thinketh  no  evil,  and  is  not  easily  provoked," 
as  from  a  deep  and  settled  contempt  for  the  short 
sighted  beings  who  may  differ  from  him  in  their 
religious  creed.  He  looks  upon  the  Koran  as  such 
a  splendid  and  well-authenticated  revelation,  that  a 
man  who  can  refuse  it  his  belief,  and  forego  the 
pleasures  which  it  promises,  evinces,  in  his  estima 
tion,  a  stupidity  and  dogged  obstinacy  of  character, 
which  forfeits  him  all  claim  to  consideration.  He 
would  seemingly  regard  it  as  a  degradation  in  him 
to  make  a  proselyte  of  such  an  incorrigible,  misera 
ble  being.  Yet  in  secular  affairs,  in  business,  in 
trade,  the  Turk  meets  you  with  a  civility,  frankness 


GOVERNOR    OF    SMYRNA.  297 

and  honesty,  which  you  are  disposed  to  construe 
into  a  complimentary  confidence  and  respect.  But 
this  is  his  nature, — he  would  be  the  same  were  he 
purchasing  shells  of  a  Hottentot,  or  furs  of  a  Sibe 
rian  savage.  His  respectful  demeanor  flows  from  an 
innate  pride  and  dignity  of  spirit,  and  not  from  the 
suggestions  of  any  flattering  regard  for  you.  He  is 
above  a  mean  trick — though  unequaled  in  that  du 
plicity  of  character,  which  Joab  revealed  in  taking 
his  friend  Amasa  by  the  beard,  kissing  him,  and 
ending  the  fraternal  embrace,  by  stabbing  him  under 
the  fifth  rib. 

The  most  extensive  and  sumptuous  edifice  in 
Smyrna,  is  the  palace  of  the  Musselirn,  or  Governor. 
It  is  pleasantly  situated  near  the  harbor,  in  the 
southern  section  of  the  city,  and  is  surrounded  by 
an  extensive  garden.  Our  consul,  Mr.  Ofley,  with 
Captain  Read,  and  the  officers  of  the  Constellation, 
called  on  his  Excellency  in  accordance  with  an  ap 
pointment  previously  arranged.  Passing  a  mount 
ed  guard  in  the  court,  and  ascending  a  broad  flight 
of  plain  stairs,  we  were  ushered  into  an  extensive 
saloon,  surrounded  by  a  rich  ottoman,  in  which  the 
Governor  was  seated  with  his  feet  drawn  under  him, 
in  the  true  turco  modo. 

He  received  us  with  a  cou^ly  ease,  and  gratify 
ing  familiarity  of  manner  ;  and  immediately  on  our 
being  seated,  commenced  a  scattering  series  of  ques 
tions,  in  which  he  betrayed  both  ignorance  and 


298  GOVERNOR    OF    SMYRNA. 

shrewdness.  His  mind  ran  incessantly  from  one 
topic  to  another,  like  a  fox,  first  confined  to  the 
grated  apertures  of  his  cage.  Whatever  the  an 
swer  might  be  to  any  question,  it  appeared  to 
excite  little  surprise,  and  sometimes  he  would  cut  it 
off,  by  putting  another  so  foreign  to  the  last,  that  the 
contrast  would  force  an  involuntary  smile.  His 
questions  were  sometimes  involved  in  a  little  mist, 
but  they  generally  reached  their  most  remote  object 
with  singular  directness  and  celerity.  The  mo 
ment  he  spoke,  his  countenance  lighted  up  as  if 
some  new  thought  had  suddenly  flashed  on  his 
spirit ;  and  then  again  it  would  as  instantaneously 
subside  into  its  customary  good-humored  apathy. 
He  appeared  to  be  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  to 
possess  a  constitution  impaired  by  anxiety  and  se 
dentary  habits.  His  dress  was  a  red  velvet  cap,  with 
a  rich  blue  tassal  depending  from  the  centre  of  the 
crown — a  loose  robe  of  the  glossy  angora — with  full 
trowsers,  and  close  vest  of  the  same  light  and  ele 
gant  material.  His  slippers  were  not  seen,  his  feet 
being  drawn  up  under  him  on  the  sofa  where  he 
sat  with  a  greater  ease  of  attitude  than  I  ever  saw 
assumed  on  chair  or  tripod. 

We  had  not  been  long  seated  when  fifteen  or 
twenty  handsomely  a/tired  attendants  entered  with 
hands  crossed  in  front,  in  token  of  submission  ;  and 
each  bearing  a  pipe,  which  he  presented  to  us,  in  a 
kneeling  posture,  The  stems  of  these  narcotic  aux- 


PIPES    AND   COFFEE.  290 

iliaries  of  Turkish  luxury  were  of  the  native  cherry, 
elegantly  slender,  and  seven  or  eight  feet  in  length, 
with  a  bowl  of  argillaceous  substance,  and  a  long 
mouth-piece  of  pure  amber.  One  end  rested  on  a 
silver  plate  near  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  the 
other,  it  was  expected  you  would  place  to  your  lips 
with  delighted  suction.  He  that  never  smoked  be 
fore  with  such  a  pipe  as  this,  would  be  excused,  if 
he  began  the  giddy  experiment.  The  first  sen 
sations  of  love,  with  the  dilating  heart  and  mysteri 
ous  sympathy,  could  not  be  more  sweet  and  inexpli 
cably  delightful,  than  the  soft  vapors  of  this  aroma 
tic  plant,  winding  along  through  the  cool  and  polish 
ed  tube,  and  finally  flowing  through  amber,  into 
the  mouth.  Cynics  and  quacks  may  prattle  as 
much  as  they  please  against  the  pipe,  yet  no  man 
who  wishes  to  be  soothed  when  he  is  weary,  or  ex- 
hilerated  when  he  is  depressed,  will  decline  the 
Turkish  chibouque.  While  enjoying  the  pleasures 
of  the  precious  weed,  the  attendant  kneeled  before 
each  with  a  few  sips  of  coffee,  in  an  extremely  small 
and  elegant  cup  of  china,  resting  in  a  delicate  stand 
of  filigreed  gold.  It  was  taken  without  sugar  or 
cream,  and  though  but  a  swallow  in  quantity,  it  con 
tained  more  of  the  real  juice  of  the  Moca-berry,  than 
is  usually  found  in  our  cups  of  much  more  promising 
dimensions.  Coffee  with  us  is  frequently  about  as 
strongly  impregnated  with  the  berry,  as  the  passing 
stream,  in  which  the  native  plant  may  happen  to 


300  TURK    AND    HIS    STEED. 

cast  its  shadow.  After  having  our  pipes  several 
times  replaced  by  fresh  ones,  and  filling  the  saloon 
with  a  cloud  of  floating  fragrance — and  drinking  a 
glass  of  cool  sherbet — and  touching  on  all  topics 
within  the  ranging  imagination  of  the  Musselim, — 
we  were  to  depart — when  his  Excellency  informed 
us  that  his  horses  had  been  brought  into  the  green, 
and  the  troops  of  the  garrison  paraded,  for  our  in 
spection,  and  he  might  have  added — for  the  gratifi 
cation  of  his  own  pride. 

We  found  the  horses  well  worthy  of  their  prince 
ly  master — plump,  smooth  and  playful — full  of  en 
ergy  and  fire,  yet  submissive  to  the  bit — and  pranc 
ing  under  their  riders,  as  if  motion  were  a  new, 
delightful  sensation.  Several  of  them  were  of  the 
Arabian  blood,  with  small  muscular  limbs — graceful 
and  athletic  conformation — with  a  flowing  mane, 
free  nostril,  bright  eye  and  a  curved  neck,  in  which 
the  very  thunder  seemed  to  lurk.  The  Mussulman 
preserves  his  steed  un maimed  and  entire,  just  as  na 
ture  formed  him,  and  bestows  upon  him  the  most 
kind  and  constant  attentions ; — and  not  without 
just  reason — for  a  Turk  without  his  horse  would 
be  almost  as  deplorably  conditioned  as  a  Catholic 
without  his  beads  ; — the  one  would  give  up  all  hope 
of  seeing  his  nearest  neighbor,  and  the  other  of  reach 
ing  heaven.  If  a  man  proposes  running  away  with 
a  horse  at  the  risk  of  being  hung  or  decapitated,  I 
should  advise  him  to  take  the  Arabian— for  in  the 


FRESH    RECRUITS.  301 

first  place,  he  could  not  be  overtaken  except  on  a 
steed  of  equally  astonishing  fleetness ;  and  in  the 
next  place,  if  overtaken  and  bow-strung,  or  made  to 
swing  so  very  awkwardly  from  the  ground,  he  will 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  forfeit 
ed  his  life  in  an  effort  to  avail  himself  of  the  noblest 
animal  on  earth.  Still  I  would  not,  in  this  world  of 
stern  law  and  unforgiving  justice,  advocate  even 
this  kind  of  magnificent  plunder,  for  there  is  no  ro 
mance  in  the  gallows — no  racing  or  riding  in  the 
grave. 

I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  in  favor  of  the  Go 
vernor's  troops  as  his  steeds — for  a  more  unsoldier- 
like  body  of  men  I  never  saw  under  arms.  They 
reminded  me  of  one  of  our  back-woods  militia  train 
ings,  where  no  two  have  coats  or  corn-stalks  alike. 
The  apology  given  for  their  appearance  was,  that 
they  had  just  been  driven  in  from  the  country. 
The  mode  of  raising  recruits  here,  exhibits  the  true 
genius  of  the  Ottoman  government, — it  is  to  send 
out  a  force  sufficient  to  reconnoitre  all  the  small  vil 
lages — where  the  youth,  who  cannot  make  their  es 
cape,  are  seized,  tied  together,  and  driven  into  the  en 
campment,  to  fight  nolens  aut  volens.  If  they  show 
a  disposition  to  desert,  they  are  pretty  sure  to  be 
shot,  or  bastinadoed  to  death  ; — and  if  they  remain, 
their  fate  may  be  more  slow,  but  it  will  come  with 
equal  suffering  and  certainty,  in  the  charge  of  the  ene 
my,  the  destructiveness  of  the  plague,  or  the  tyran- 
26 


302  MOUNT   PAGUS, 

nical  authority,  and  merciless  inconsideration  of 
their  commanders.  Let  those  who  would  dissolve 
our  Union,  and  render  us  in  our  scattered  strength 
the  prey  of  foreign  avarice  and  power,  look  here  and 
see  what  the  loss  of  liberty  really  is,  and  take  a 
lesson  of  wholesome  admonition.  These  poor  fel 
lows  have  been  wrenched  away  from  their  parents 
and  homes,  chained  together  as  culprits,  driven  over 
parching  sands  to  this  garrison,  and  are  now,  in  a 
few  days  to  be  marched  off,  under  their  arms,  with 
a  prospect  of  a  mere  precarious  subsistence,  into  the 
burning  plains  of  Syria,  there  to  perish  in  battle,  or 
wither  away  with  fatigue  and  famine.  But  whether 
the  sands  of  the  desert,  or  the  field  of  blood,  be  their 
grave,  their  homes  will  know  them  no  more  !  They 
have  left  forever  behind  them  all  that  the  earth  holds 
dear.  The  most  foolish  and  frantic  disunionist  in 
our  country  who  can  look  at  this,  and  not  feel  com- 
punctions  of  shame,  and  devote  himself  anew  to 
the  great  cause  of  united  liberty,  is  unworthy  of 
the  age  in  which  he  lives,  and  of  the  country  that 
has  given  him  birth. 

But  to  return  to  Smyrna.  Through  the  south 
ern  section  of  the  city  swells  a  very  high  hill,  com 
manding  a  wide  range  of  land  and  water,  and  bear 
ing  the  name  of  Mount  Pagus.  It  is  surmounted  by 
a  Genoese  castle,  reared  on  the  huge  foundations  of 
one  constructed  by  Alexander  the  Great.  The  cas 
tle  is  now  unfortified,  and  has  only  the  frowning  as- 


MARTYRDOM    OP    POLYCARP.  303 

pect  of  its  gigantic  proportions  to  strengthen  its 
friends,  or  intimidate  its  foes.  In  our  ascent  to  the 
castle,  we  passed  over  the  obliterated  foundations  of 
the  amphitheatre,  where  Polycarp  was  martyred  amid 
thousands  who  had  assembled  to  wonder  at  his  fa 
natical  fortitude,  or  jeer  his  recanting  timidity.  But 
that  great  apostle  of  truth  felt  too  deeply  the  respon 
sibility  of  his  situation,  to  consult  the  weaker  impul 
ses  of  his  nature.  He  had  heard  the  warning  voice 
of  the  Son  of  God,  calling  to  him,  through  the  saint 
ed  exile  of  Patmos,  as  the  angel  of  the  church  of 
Smyrna,  to  be  "  faithful  unto  death ;" — he  stood  un- 
tremblingly  true  to  the  confidence  with  which  he 
had  been  divinely  honored;  and  passed  from  the 
sorrows  and  agonies  of  martyrdom,  to  receive  the 
promised  "  crown  of  life."  His  devoted  example  in 
spired  hundreds  with  kindred  emotions, — it  strength 
ened  the  weak,  decided  the  doubting,  and  confirmed 
the  wavering  ; — it  made  the  church  of  Smyrna  one  of 
those  firm  out-posts  of  Christianity,  which  no  bribes 
could  seduce,  and  no  terrors  or  trials  disarm.  She 
stood  simple,  erect  and  uncompromising — leaning 
upon  an  unshaken  faith  in  the  promises  of  her 
Redeemer,  and  looking  forward  to  the  day  of  her 
deliverance  and  triumph.  That  day  came, — and 
the  humble  cause  which  she  had  espoused,  sweeping 
away  the  altars  and  fanes  of  idolatry,  enthroned  it 
self  upon  the  affections  and  confidence  of  the  civil' 
ized  world. 


304  BIRTH-PLACE    OF   HOMER. 

From  the  battlements  of  the  castle  we  could 
trace  the  Meles,  winding  through  its  fertile  valley, 
and  mingling  its  waters  with  the  broad  wave  of  the 
bay.  We  wandered  down  to  the  bank  of  this  clas 
sic  stream,  and  lingered  around  the  green  spot, 
which,  it  is  contended,  was  the  birth-place  of  Ho 
mer.  The  young,  beautiful,  and  unfortunate  Cri- 
theis — if  story  be  as  true  as  it  is  full  of  scandal — 
fled  to  this  secluded  shade  to  escape  the  exposure 
and  shame  of  becoming  a  mother  ; — little  thinking 
in  her  solitude  and  anguish,  that  the  offspring  of  her 
erring  fondness,  was  to  string  a  lyre,  to  which  the 
whole  earth  would  listen.  She  sunk  to  an  early 
grave,  and  left  her  boy,  as  most  do,  who  thus  err,  to 
wander  destitute  and  forsaken.  But  nature  was 
not  denied  him, — he  strayed  among  her  founts  and 
flowers,  visited  her  recesses  of  deeper  beauty,  listen 
ed  to  the  tone  of  her  thousand  voices,  caught  the  spir 
it  that  quickens  through  her  mysterious  frame,  and 
poured  forth  his  exulting  sensations  in  a  tide  of  im 
perishable  song.  Though  unknown,  except  in  his 
numbers,  he  has  charmed  the  world  into  an  immor 
tal  remembrance  and  affection.  The  posterity  of 
those  who  left  him  to  famish  and  die,  have  contended 
for  the  honor  of  his  birth,  and  reared  their  richest 
monuments  to  his  name.  Soon  or  late  the  claims 
of  genius  must  be  acknowledged  and  felt.  Time, 
while  it  levels  all  other  distinctions,  will*  leave  un 
touched,  those  created  by  the  mind. 


PRAYERS   OP   THE  MUSSULMAN.  305 

The  prayers  of  the  Mussulman  at  the  rising  and 
setting  of  the  sun,  and  at  mid-day,  never  fail  to  at 
tract  the  ear  and  eye  of  the  stranger  in  Smyrna. 
You  hear  at  that  hour  from  all  the  minarets  of  the 
mosques,  a  voice  uttering  in  tones  deep  and  solemn, 
the  invocation — "  Come  to  prayer — there  is  no  God 
but  God,  and  Mahomet  is  his  Prophet — come  to 
prayer — I  summon  you  with  a  clear  voice." — The 
faithful  fall  on  their  knees,  and  with  their  faces  turned 
towards  Mecca,  bow  themselves  three  times  to  the 
earth  ;  repeating  between  each  prostration  a  brief 
prayer  ;  then  slowly  rising,  seem  to  carry  into  their 
occupation,  a  portion  of  the  solemnity  which  cha 
racterizes  this  scene.  Your  impression  is,  that  the 
follower  of  the  Prophet,  however  erroneous  may  be 
his  faith,  is  not  ashamed  of  his  religion — that  he 
is  not  the  being  who  will  forego  his  prayers  out  of 
a  shrinking,  unbecoming  regard  for  the  presence  or 
prejudices  of  others, — and  your  respect  for  him  in 
this  particular,  is  in  proportion  to  his  seeming  want 
of  it  for  you.  Let  those  who  put  away  the  good  old 
family  Bible  on  some  unseen  shelf,  and  who  go 
to  bed  at  night  without  their  domestic  devotions — 
if  a  stranger  be  present—- take  a  hint  from  the  Mus 
sulman. 

The  most  silent  spot  in  Smyrna  is  that  which 
you  would  expect  to  find  the  most  noisy — the  cafe- 
net,  to  be  met  with  in  every  part  of  the  town.     You 
will  find  here  at  every  hour  of  the  day,  thirty  or 
26* 


306  COFFEE-HOUSE    SCENE. 

forty  Turks,  seated  under  the  trees  which  deeply 
shade  the  court — now  and  then  giving  a  long  whiff, 
and  relieving  the  intervals  by  a  sip  of  coffee,  which 
atones  for  the  absence  of  cream  and  sugar  in  its 
strength.  All  this  while  not  a  word  is  spoken  ;  not 
a  sound  is  heard,  save  that  of  the  little  fountain, 
and  even  this  in  the  faint  lapse  of  its  notes,  seems 
falling  asleep.  On  one  occasion,  and  but  one,  I 
saw  this  silence  broken  up. 

I  had  observed  two  Turks,  seated  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  court,  casting  at  each  other  between  their 
whiffs,  looks  of  rather  a  menacing  character.  No 
words,  however,  passed, — no  inimical  motions  were 
made, — nothing  indicated  anger  except  the  occa 
sional  scorching  glance  of  a  deep,  black  eye.  When 
suddenly  droping  their  pipes,  they  sprang  at  the 
same  instant  upon  their  feet,  and  discharged  their 
pistols — but  neither  took  effect.  I  expected  to  see 
them  rush  at  each  other  with  a  plunging  yategan ; 
but  what  was  my  surprise,  when  I  saw  each  leisurely 
return  his  pistol  to  his  belt,  and  resume  his  seat  as 
composedly  as  if  he  had  merely  risen  to  pluck  the 
orange  that  depended  from  the  branch  over  his 
head.  The  company,  so  far  from  being  thrown  into 
confusion  and  uproar,  continued  silently  to  smoke 
their  pipes  ;  the  affair  appeared  not  to  furnish  a  topic 
of  conversation  sufficiently  interesting  to  relieve  the 
silence  that  ensued.  This  feature  of  the  scene  I 
liked ;  it  shows  that  the  Mussulman,  however  irre- 


VICINITY   OP   SMYRNA.  307 

spective  he  may  be  of  other  salutary  injunctions, 
strictly  obeys,  what  sailors  call  the  eleventh 
commandment — thou  shalt  mind  thine  own  busi 
ness. 

Among  the  most  pleasant  rides  in  the  vicinity 
of  Smyrna,  is  that  to  Bournebat,  leading  through 
a  succession  of  vineyards  and  olive-groves,  with  the 
tulip  and  ranunculus  blooming  around  in  wild  profu 
sion.  The  village  is  ornamented  with  many  ele 
gant  mansions,  belonging  to  merchants  in  Smyrna, 
who  seek  here  a  refuge  from  the  heat,  dust  and  noise 
of  the  town.  We  were  here  introduced  into  the 
summer  residence  of  Mr.  Ofley,  the  American  Con 
sul,  to  whose  influence,  and  hospitable  attentions, 
we  were  indebted  for  many  pleasures,  connected 
with  our  cruise  in  the  Levant.  His  agency  in  estab 
lishing  the  relations,  which  now  exist  between  us 
and  the  Ottoman  government,  entitles  him  to  the  re 
spect  and  gratitude  of  his  country.  Nor  should  I  fail 
to  mention  here,  the  many  tokens  of  assiduous  kind 
ness  which  we  received  from  our  worthy  countrymen, 
Messrs.  Clark  and  Stith — merchants  of  a  character 
and  standing  that  do  honor  to  America.  Nor  should 
I  pass  by  the  cheerful  hearth,  and  benevolent  efforts  of 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Brewer.  His  schools  are  diffusing  a  spirit 
of  intelligence  and  inquiry  among  the  Greeks,  that 
will  one  day  speak  for  itself.  Why  his  institutions 
so  full  of  goodly  promise,  and  so  essential  to  the  hap 
piness  of  those  for  whose  benefit  they  were  designed, 


308  RESOURCES    OF   SMYRNA. 

should  have  been  denied  the  fostering  care  of  the  Ame 
rican  Board  of  Foreign  Missions,  is  a  mystery  which 
I  shall  not  here  attempt  to  solve  ;  but  it  is  a  course 
of  conduct,  strangely  at  variance  with  their  custo 
mary  wisdom  and  discernment. 

The  Board  owe  it  to  themselves  as  well  as  the 
Christian  public  to  explain  their  conduct  towards 
Mr.  Brewer.  They  have  abandoned  him  under  cir 
cumstances  equally  wounding  to  his  feelings,  and 
injurious  to  the  great  cause  in  which  they  are  em 
barked.  They  have  left  him  with  four  or  five  hun 
dred  Greek  and  Armenian  boys,  eager  for  instruc 
tion,  to  struggle  on  as  he  can — to  purchase  from 
the  most  slender  private  means,  even  the  books 
used  by  his  pupils — to  divide  with  them  indeed,  his 
last  morsel  of  bread,  while  the  funds  thus  withheld 
have  been  spent  in  sending  out  missionaries  to  be 
eaten  up  by  the  cannibals  of  Sumatra.  They  may, 
and  doubtless  will,  disregard  this  allusion — this  is  not 
the  place  to  agitate  a  question  of  this  kind — but  they 
may  possibly  be  addressed  in  a  form  more  appropri 
ate  and  effective — a  form  which  no  wise  man  will, 
and  no  good  man  can,  disregard. 

The  favorable  position  of  Smyrna  for  commerce, 
Is  the  main  source  of  its  wealth,  and  political  im 
portance.  It  has  been  successively  plundered  by 
the  enemy — overthrown  by  the  earthquake — depop 
ulated  by  the  plague — and  consumed  by  the  flame ; 
but  it  has  risen  again  to  increased  opulence  and 


CONSULAR    AUTHORITY.  309 

power,  on  the  force  of  its  commercial  advantages. 
Alexander  manifested  his  extraordinary  shrewdness 
and  judgment  in  its  location.  It  would  seem  as  if 
he  intended  to  found  a  city,  that  should  survive  all 
the  hostile  agents,  by  which  it  could,  in  any  possi 
ble  event,  be  assailed.  It  has  been  for  centuries 
without  fortress  or  wall ;  and  though  often  reduced 
in  its  sad  vicissitudes  to  a  ruin  and  a  tomb,  yet  it  now 
embraces  the  most  dense  and  thriving  population 
within  the  wide  dominion  of  the  Porte. 

The  female  beauty,  which  once  brought  to  it  the 
sculptor  and  painter  for  originals,  may  in  some  mea 
sure  have  disappeared ;  but  its  commercial  facilities 
have  assembled  within  it,  from  the  most  distant 
realms,  another  class  of  beings,  whose  enterprise 
contributes  vastly  more  to  its  wealth  and  prosperity. 
It  may  look  with  composure  at  its  temporary  misfor 
tunes,  for  it  must  stand  and  thrive,  so  long  as  the 
caravans  of  Persia  can  move — the  vintage  of  the 
teeming  year  come  round — and  the  ship  hold  its 
course  over  the  deep.  Nor  need  any  be  deterred 
from  a  residence  here,  by  apprehensions  of  Turkish 
treachery  and  violence.  The  authority  recognized 
in  a  Consular  representative  is  no  where  held  more 
sacred  and  inviolable.  Heads  may  fall  like  rain 
drops  from  an  April  cloud,  but  beneath  the  flag  of 
his  country  the  foreigner  is  safe.  It  is  an  aegis 
which  the  most  profane  weapon  of  the  Mussulman 
dares  not  touch; — and  its  existence  here  is  about 


310  PARTING   WITH    THE    READER. 

as  singular  as  a  certain  writer  conjectured  retreat 
in  hell,  where  neither  flame  nor  fiend  may  come. 

And  now,  reader,  I  must  bid  you  adieu.  But  if 
you  have  not  been  too  much  offended  with  some  of 
my  hasty  expressions — if  you  have  been  amused  by 
the  light  incidents  of  my  story — if  over  its  simple 
pages  your  hours  have  passed  with  a  less  percepti 
ble  weight — meet  me  here  again.  That  brilliant 
barge  which  rocks  so  lightly  on  the  wave  of  this  bay 
is  to  take  me,  and  others  whose  society  will  afford 
you  a  much  greater  pleasure,  to  the  strand  of  Ilium. 
Join  our  company  and  I  will  show  you  the  palace 
of  Priam,  Achille's  tomb,  and  Hellen's  gushing 
fount.  We  will  then  pass  up  between  the  wildly 
wooded  shores  of  the  Dardanelles  on  to  the  bright 
bosom  of  the  Marmora,  and  watch  the  city  of  Con- 
etantine,  emerging  in  splendor  from  the  wave  ;  glanc 
ing  at  its  domes  and  its  delicate  minarets,  we  will 
fvind  our  way  up  the  Golden  Home  into  the  valley 
of  Sweet  Waters ;— we  will  stray  through  the  roman 
tic  dells  of  Belgrade — along  the  beautiful  banks  of 
the  Bosphorus — catch  the  traits  of  those  who  dwell 
there  in  oriental  gaiety — and  returning,  mount  again 
to  the  deck  of  our  ship — sail  to  the  purple  shores  of 
Greece — walk  around  among  the  magnificent  ruins 
of  Athens — and  visit  the  sweet  isles  of  the  JSgean. 
All  this  I  promise  you,  if  you  will  accord  me  your 
company, — and  then  you  will  find  me  more  atten^ 
tive  than  I  have  been— less  forgetful  of  your  tastes 


PARTING   WITH   THE    READER.  311 

less  captious  under  my  own  slight  provoca 
tions. 

But  before  we  part,  come  with  me  clown  to  the 
beach  of  this  moon-lit  bay,  for  at  this  still  hour  of  the 
evening  we  have  nothing  to  fear — nothing  can  break 
on  our  solitude — and  let  me  tell  you  here,  under  the 
light  of  these  sweet  stars,  what  I  love — for  I  know 
you  must  love  the  same  things  too,  or  things  very 
much  like  these : — 

I  love  to  wander  on  the  shore  of  ocean, 
To  hear  the  light  wave  ripple  on  the  beach, 

For  there's  a  music  in  their  murm'ring  motion, 
The  softest  sounds  of  earth  could  never  reach, — 

A  cadence  breathing  more  of  joy  than  plaint, 

Like  the  last  whispers  of  a  dying  saint. 

I  love  to  wander,  on  a  star-lit  night, 

Along  the  breathing  margin  of  a  lake. 
Whose  tranquil  bosom  mirrors  to  the  sight 

The  dewy  stars;  where  not  a  wave  nor  wakoj 
Disturbs  the  slumbering  surface,  nor  a  sound 
Is  heard  from  out  the  deep-hushed  forest  round.  ' 

The  vesper-star  sleeps  in  that  silent  water 

So  sweetly  fair,  so  tenderly  serene, 
You  fondly  think  it  is  the  bright-eyed  daughter 

Of  that  pure  element,  and  breathless,  lean 
To  catch  its  beauty,  as  if  bent  above 
The  face  of  one  you  only  live  to  love. 

But  mine  the  grave  hath  won  ! — never  my  heart 

Wilt  thou  forget  the  sweet  seraphic  look, 
In  which  she  meekly  whispered, — "  we  must  part," — 

And  with  a  faint  and  feeble  firmness  took 
The  token  from  her  neck,  which  still  is  prest 
'  In  love  and  anguish  to  this  bleeding  breast.  . 

Bright  sainted  one  !— The  bloom  of  youth  was  on  thee 
When  thou  did'st  smile  and  die— when  I  beside 

Thy  couch,  with  doubting  tears,  still  gaz'd  upon  thee^ 
And  idly  thought  thou  yet  would' st  be  my  bride} — 

So  like  to  life  the  slumber  death  had  cast 

On  thy  sweet  face— my  first  Love  and  my  last. 


312  PARTING   WITH   THE  READER. 

I  watched  to  see  thine  eye  its  light  unfold, 

For  still  thy  forehead  gleamed  as  bright  and  fair, 

As  when  those  raven  ringlets  wildly  rolTd 
O'er  life,  which  dwelt  in  thought  and  beauty  there; 

Thy  cheek  the  while,  seem'd  conscious  of  the  theme, 

That  trembled  through  the  spirit's  mystic  dream. 

Thy  lips,  though  breathless,  still  retain'd  the  smile, 
That  oft  around  their  dewy  freshness  woke, 

When  some  more  lightsome  thought  or  harmless  wile 
Upon  thy  warm  and  wandering  fancy  broke, — 

For  thou  wert  nature's  child,  and  took  the  tone 

Of  every  pulse  as  if  it  were  thine  own. 

I  watch' d  and  still  believ'd  that  thou  would'st  wake, — 
While  others  came  to  place  theein  the  shroud : 

I  hoped  to  see  this  seeming  slumber  break, 
As  I  have  seen  a  light,  obscuring  cloud 

Disperse,  which  o'er  a  star-sweet  face  had  thrown 

A  shadow,  like  to  that  which  veil'd  thine  own. 

But  no  ! — there  was  no  token,  look  or  breath : 
The  tears  of  those  around,  the  tolling  bell 

Told  me  at  last,  that  this  was  death  ! 
I  know  not  if  I  breathed  a  last  Farewell ! 

But  since  that  day,  my  sweetest  hours  have  past 

In  thought  of  thee — my  first  Love  and  my  last. 


LEAVITT,  LORD&  CO. 
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Works  Published  by  Leavitt,  Lord,  <$•  Co. 

RECOMMENDATIONS   OF   BARNES'    NOTES. 

From  Abbott's  Religious  Magazine. 

We  have  previously,  in  a  brief  notice,  recommended  to  our  readers 
Barnes'  Notes  on  the  Gospels.  But  a  more  extended  acquaintance  with 
that  work  has  very  much  increased  our  sense  of  its  value.  We  never 
have  opened  any  commentary  on  the  Gospels,  which  has  afforded  us  so 
much  satisfaction.  Without  intending,  in  the  least  degree,  to  disparage 
the  many  valuable  commentaries  which  now  aid  the  Christian  in  the 
study  of  the  Bible,  we  cannot  refrain  from  expressing  our  gratitude  to  the 
Author,  for  the  interesting  and  profitable  instructions  he  has  given  us. — 
The  volumes  are  characterized  by  the  following  merits. 

1.  The  spirit  which  imbues  them  is  highly  devotional.    It  is  a  devotion 
founded  on  knowledge.    It  is  a  zeal  guided  by  discretion. 

2.  The  notes  are  eminently  intellectual.    Apparent  difficulties  are  fairly 
met.    They  are  either  explained,  or  the  want  of  a  fully  satisfactory  expla 
nation  admitted.     There  is  none  of  that  slipping  by  a  knot  which  is  too 
common  in  many  commentaries. 

3.  The  notes  are  written  in  language  definite,  pointed  and  forcible.  There 
is  no  interminable  flow  of  lazy  words.    Every  word  is  active  and  does  its 
work  well.    There  are  no  fanciful  expositions.    There  are  no  tedious  dis 
play  of  learning. 

There  may  be  passages  in  which  we  should  differ  from  the  writer  in 
some  of  the  minor  shades  of  meaning.  There  may  be  sometimes  an  un 
guarded  expression  which  has  escaped  our  notice.  We  have  not  scruti 
nized  the  volumes  with  the  eye  of  a  critic.  But  we  have  used  them 
in  our  private  reading.  We  have  used  them  in  our  family.  And  we  have 
invariably  read  them  with  profit  and  delight. 

We  have  just  opened  the  book  to  select  some  passage  as  an  illustration 
of  the  spirit  of  the  work.  The  Parable  of  the  rich  nian  and  Lazarus  now 
lies  before  us.  The  notes  explanatory  of  the  meaning  of  the  parables,  are 
full  and  to  the  point.  The  following  are  the  inferences,  which  Mr.  Barnes 
deduces. 

"  From  this  impressive  and  instructive  parable,  we  may  learn, 
"l.  That  the  souls  of  men  do  not  die  with  their  bodies. 
"2.  That  the  souls  of  men  are  conscious  after  death  ;  that  they  do  not 
sleep,  as  some  haye  supposed,  till  the  morning  of  the  resurrection. 

"  3.  That  the  righteous  are  taken  to  a  place  of  happiness  immediately 
at  death,  and  the  wicked  consigned  to  misery. 
"4.  That  wealth  does  not  secure  us  from  death. 
"  How  vain  are  riches  to  secure 
Their  haughty  owners  from  the  grave. 

"The  rich,  the  beautiful,  the  gay,  as  well  as  the  poor,  go  down  to  the 
grave.     All  their  pomp  and  apparel ;  all  their  honors,  their  palaces  and 
their  gold  cannot  save  them.    Death  can  as  easily  find  his  way  into  the 
mansions  of  the  rich  as  into  the  cottages  of  the  poor,  and  the  rich  shall 
turn  to  the  same  corruption,  and  soon,  like  the  poor,  be  undistinguished 
from  common  dust,  and  be  unknown. 
"  5.  We  should  not  envy  the  condition  of  the  rich. 
"  On -slippery  rocks  I  see  them  stand, 
And  fiery  billows  roll  below. 

"6.  We  should  strive  for  a  better  inheritance,  than  can  be  possessed  in 
this  life. 

"  '  Now  I  esteem  their  mirth  and  wine, 
Too  dear  to  purchase  with  my  blood, 
Lord  'tis  enough  that  thou  art  mine, 
My  life,  my  portion,  and  my  God.'  " 

"  7.  The  sufferings  of  the  wicked  in  hell  will  be  indiscnbably  great. 
Think  what  is  represented  by  torment,  by  burning  flame,  by  insupportable 
thirst,  by  that  state  when  a  single  drop  of  water  would  afford  relief.  Re 
member  that  all  this  is  but  a  representation  of  the  pains  of  the  damned, 
and  that  this  will  have  no  relief,  day  nor  night,  but  will  continue  from 


Works  Published  by  Leavitt,  Lord,  $   Co. 

RECOMMENDATIONS  OF  BARNES'  NOTES. 

year  to  year,  and  age  to  age,  and  without  any  end,  and  you  have  a  faint 
view  of  the  sufferings  of  those  who  are  in  helf. 

8.  There  is  a  place  of  suffering  beyond  the  grave,  a  hell.  If  there  is 
not,  then  this  parable  has  no  meaning.  It  is  impossible  to  make  anything 
of  it  unless  it  is  designed  to  teach  that. 

.  "  9.  There  will  never  be  any  escape  from  those  gloomy  regions.  There 
is  a .gulf  fixed— fixed,  not  moveable.  Nor  can  any  of  the  damned  beat  a 
pathway  across  this  gulf,  to  the  world  of  holiness. 

"  10.  We  see  the  amazing  folly  of  those,  who  suppose  there  may  be  an 
end  to  the  sufferings  of  the  wicked,  and  who  on  that  supposition  seem 
willing  to  go  down  to  hell  to  suffer  a  long  time,  rather  than  go  at  once  to 
heaven.  If  man  were  to  suffer  but  a  thousand  years,  or  even  one  year, 
why  should  he  be  so  foolish  as  to  choose  that  suffering,  rather  than  go  at 
once  to  heaven,  and  be  happy  at  once  when  he  dies? 

"  H.  God  gives  us  warning  sufficient  to  prepare  for  death.  He  has  sent 
his  word,  his  servants,  his  son  ;  he  warns  us  by  his  Spirit  and  his  provi 
dence,  by  the  entreaties  of  our  friends,  and  by  the  death  of  sinners.  He 
offers  us  heaven,  and  he  threatens  hell.  If  all  this  will  not  move  sinners, 
what  icould  do  it  ?  There  is  nothing  that  would. 

"  12.  God  will  give  us  nothing  farther  to  warn  us.  No  dead  man  will 
come  to  life,  to  tell  us  what  he  has  seen.  If  he  did,  we  would  not  believe 
him.  Religion  appeals  to  man,  not  by  ghosts  and  frightful  apparitions. 
It  appeals  to  their  reason,  their  conscience,  their  hopes,  and  their  fears. — 
it  sets  life  and  death  soberly  before  men,  and  if  they  will  not  choose  the 
former  they  must  die.  If  you  will  not  hear  the  Son  of  God,  and  the  truth 
of  the  Scriptures,  there  is  nothing  which  you  will  or  can  hear;  you  will 
never  be  persuaded,  and  never  will  escape  the  place  of  torment." 

If  we  have  any  influence  with  our  readers,  we  would  recommend  them 
to  buy  these  volumes.  There  is  hardly  any  Christian  in  the  land,  who  will 
not  find  them  an  invaluable  treasure. 

Extract  of  a  Letter  from  a  distinguished  Divine  of  New  England. 

It  (Barnes1  Notes)  supplies  an  important  and  much  needed  desideratum 
in  the  means  of  Sabbath  School  and  Bible  Class  instruction. 

Without  descending  to  minute  criticism,  or  attempting  a  display  of 
learning,  it  embraces  a  wide  range  of  general  reading,  and  brings  out  the 
results  of  an  extended  and  careful  investigation  of  the  most  important 
sources  of  Biblical  knowledge. 

The  style  of  the  work  is  as  it  should  be,  plain,  simple,  direct ;  often 
vigorous  and  striking;  always  serious  and  earnest. 

It  abounds  in  fine  analyses  of  thought  and  trains  of  argument,  admira 
bly  adapted  to  aid  Sabbath  School  Teachers  in  their  responsible  duties : 
often  too,  very  useful  to  Ministers  when  called  suddenly  to  prepare  for 
religious  meetings,  and  always  helpful  in  conducting  the  exercises  of  a 
Bible  Class. 

Without  vouching  for  the  correctness  of  every  explanation  and  sentiment 
contained  in  the  Notes,  its  author  appears  to  have  succeeded  very  happily 
in  expressing  the  mind  of  the  Holy  Spirit  as  revealed  in  those  parts  of  the 
New  Testament  which  he  has  undertaken  to  explain. 

The  theology  taught  in  these  volumes,  drawn  as  it  is  from  the  pure 
fountain  9f  truth,  is  eminently  common  sense  and  practical. 

It  has  little  to  do  with  theory  or  speculation. 

The  author  appears  not  to  be  unduly  wedded  to  any  particular  school  or 
system  of  theology,  but  to  have  a  mind  trained  to  habits  of  independent 
thinking,  readily  submissive  to  the  teachings  of  inspiration,  but  indisposed 
to  call  any  man  master,  or  to  set  up  anything  in  opposition  to  the  plain 
testimony  of  the  Bible. 

We  would  here  say,  once  for  all,  we  consider  Barnes'  Notes  the  best 
commentary  for  families  we  have  seen.— A7".  E.  Spectator. 

3 


Works  Published  by  Leavitt,  Lord,  fy  Co. 

RECOMMENDATIONS  OF  BARNES'  NOTES. 

t  IF  the  degree  of  popular  favor  with  which  a  work  of  biblical  instruc 
tion  is  received  by  an  intelligent  Christian  community  be  a  just  criterioi 
of  Us  value,  the  volumes  which  the  Rev.  Mr.  Barnes  is  giving  the  Chur  " 
are  entitled  to  a  nigh  place  in  the  scale  of  merit.— N.  Y.  Evangelist. 

From  Review  of  the  Gospels  in  Biblical  Repertory. ' 
We  have  only  to  say  further,  by  way  of  introduction,  that  we  admi 
the  practical  wisdom  evinced  by  Mr.  Barnes  in  selecting  means  by  whit., 
to  act  upon  the  public  mind,  as  well  as  his  self-denying  diligence  in  labor 
ing  to  supply  the  grand  defect  of  our  religious  education.    Masterly  expo 
sition,  m  a  popular  form,  is  the  great  desideratum  of  the  Christian  public. 

The  Notes  are  always  readable,  and  almost  always  to  the  point.    No 
thing  appears  to  have  been  said  for  the  sake  of  saying  something.    This  is 
right.    It  is  the  only  principle  on  which  our  books  of  popular  instruction 
can  be  written  with  success.    Its  practical  value  is  evinced  by  the  exter 
sive  circulation  of  the  work  before  us,  as  well  as  by  the  absence  of  th; 
heaviness  and  langour,  which  inevitably  follow  from  a  verbose  style,  or  tl 
want  of  a  definite  object. 

Mr.  Barnes' explanations  are  in  general  brief  and  clear,  comprising 
the  fruit  of  very  diligent  research. 

We  have  been  much  pleased  with  his  condensed  synopsis  of  the  usual 
arguments  on  some  disputed  points,  as  well  as  with  his  satisfactory  solu 
tion  of  objections. 

But  Mr.  Barnes'  has  not  been  satisfied  with  merely  explaining  the 
language  of  the  text.  He  has  taken  pains  to  add  those  illustrations  which 
verbal  exposition,  in  the  strict  sense  cannot  furnish.  The  book  is  rich  in 
archaeological  information.  All  that  could  well  be  gathered  from  the  com 
mon  works  on  biblical  antiquities,  is  wrought  into  the  Notes  upon  those 
passages  which  need  such  elucidation. 

In  general  we  admire  the  skill  with  which  he  sheds  the  light  of  archae 
ology  and  history  upon  the  text  of  scripture,  and  especially  the  power  of 
compression  which  enables  him  to  crowd  a  mass  of  knowledge  into  a 
narrow  space  without  obscurity. 

While  the  explanation  of  the  text  is  the  primary  object  kept  in  view 
throughout  these  notes,  religious  edification  is  by  no  means  slighted. 
Mr.  Barnes'  devotional  and  practical  remarks  bear  a  due  proportion  to 
the  whole. 

From  what  we  have  said  it  follows  of  course,  that  the  work  before  "us 
has  uncommon  merit.  Correct  explanation,  felicitous  illustration,  and 
impressive  application,  are  the  characteristic  attributes  of  a  successful 
commentary.  Though  nothing  can  be  added  in  the  way  of  commendatior 
which  is  not  involved  in  something  said  already,  there  are  two  detachec 
points  which  deserve  perhaps  to  be  distinctly  stated.  We  are  glad  to  se< 
that  Mr.  Barnes  not  only  shuns  the  controversial  mode  of  exposition,  but 
often  uses  expressions  on  certain  disputed  subjects,  which  in  their  obvious 
sense,  convey  sound  doctrine  in  its  strictest  form.  What  variety  of 
meaning  these  expressions  may  admit  of,  or  are  likely  to  convey,  we  d( 
not  know  ;  but  we  are  sure  that  in  their  simple  obvious  meaning  they  ai 
strongly  Calvanistic  in  the  good  old  sense. 

The  other  point  to  which  we  have  alluded  is  Mr.  Barnes' frankm 
and  decision  in  condemning  fanatical  extravagance  and  inculcating  Christ 
ian  prudence. 

With  respect  to  Mr.  Barnes'  style  we  have  little  to  say  beyond  a  gen 
ral  commendation.  The  pains  which  he  has  wisely  taken  to  be  brie 
have  compelled  him  to  write  well. 


Works  Published  by  Leavitt,  Lord,  $  Co. 

THE  SOCIAL  FIRE-SIDE  LIBRARY. 

FIRE-SIDE  SERIES.  A  scries  of  18mo  volumes,  (of  a  popular  and 
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responsibilities,  especially  those  of  parents  to  children,  and  children  to 
parentSj  &c.  The  plan,  in  a  word,  includes  all  those  subjects  which 
may  afford  useful  interesting  family  reading.  Several  volumes,  embel 
lished  with  steel  engravings,  are  already  published,  others  are  in  press, 
from  the  pens  of  Rev.  Messrs.  H.  Hooker,  T.  H.  Gallaudet,  (late  Prin 
cipal  of  the  American  Asylum  for  the  Deaf  and  Dumb.)  Jacob  Abbott, 
(author  of  the  Young  Christian.)  and  others,  equally  distinguished  for 
their  success  in  writing  for  children.  These  volumes  consist  of  250 
pages,  retail  at  50  cents,  and  are  sold  singly  or  in  sets,  as  preferred. 

Vol.  I.— FIRE-SIDE  PIETY. 

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Vol.  III.— CHINA  AND  THE  ENGLISH. 

Vol.  IV.— REAL  DIALOGUES  ON  THE  EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 

JUVENILE  SERIES.— A  new  series  of  small  volumes,  designed  for  the 
moral  and  religious  improvement  of  children,  has  just  been  commenced. 

VoL  I.— WAY  FOR  A  CHILD  TO  BE  SAVED. 
Vol.  II. — EVERY  DAY  DUTY. 

CHILD'S  BOOK  on  the  Sabbath.  By  Rev.  H.  HOOKER.  Giving  in  an 
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bath,  its  change,  design,  means  of  observance,  &c.  &c. 

BIBLE  STORIES  for  children.  By  Rev.  T.  H.  GALLAUDET. 

CHILD  AT  HOME,  or  the  principles  of  Filial  Duty  familiarly  illus 
trated,  By  J.  S.  C.  ABBOTT. 

With  many  other  valuable  and  interesting  books  suitable  for  children 
and  youth,  and  for  Sabbath  School  Libraries., 

THE  EVERY  DAY  CHRISTIAN.  By  Rev.  T.  H.  GALLAUDET. 
MOTHER  AT  HOME,  or  principles  of  Maternal  Duty  familiarly  il 
lustrated.  By  J.  S.  C.  ABBOTT. 

FAMILY  AT  HOME,  or  familiar  illustrations  of  the  various  Domestic 
Duties.  By  G.  D.  ABBOTT. 

PIKE'S  GUIDE  TO  YOUNG  DISCIPLES. 

PIKE'S  RELIGIOUS  AND  ETERNAL  LIFE,  or  Irreligion  and  Per 
petual  Ruin. 

DAILY  DUTIES.    By  A  Married  Lady.    12mo. 

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EVENING  EXERCISES  for  the  Closet,  for  every  day  in  the  year. 
By  WM.  JAY.  Stereotype  edition.  The  superior  excellence  of  this 
work  is  universally  admitted.  Several  thousand  copies  have  already 
been  circulated. 

PORTER'S  RHETORICAL  READER,  16th  edition. 

PORTER'S  ANALYSIS  OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  RHETORICAL 

DELIVERY. 
STONE'S  CHILD'S  READER,  on  a  new  and  popular  plan.    18rno. 


Works  Published  by  Leavitt,  Lord,       Co. 

MEMOIRS  OF  HARLAN  PAGE. 

BIOGRAPHIES  OF  DR.  PAYSON,  MRS.  HUNTINGTON,  BURDEI 
HALYBURTON,  J.  B.  TAYLOR,  &c. 

MEMOIR  OF  Mrs.  MIRON  WINSLOW,  late  Missionary  to  India. 
By  her  husband,  Rev.  MIRON  WINSLOW.  In  a  neat  12mo.  with  a  Por 
trait. 

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an  Introductory  Essay,  by  the  Rev.  DANIEL  WILSON,  D.  D.  18m 
new  edition,  with  a  steel  portrait. 

DR.  PAYSON' S  SELECT  THOUGHTS.    32mo. 

THE  RELIGIOUS  OFFERING.  Here  the  religious  portion  of  the 
reading  community  are  presented  with  a  book,  that  will  carry  to  the 


• 


children^ and  friends,  in  as  attractive  a  form /as "possibfe"  those' great 


truths  that  relate  to  man  as  a  moral,  responsible,  and  religious  bein 
POLYMICRIAN  TESTAMENT.    32mo.    This  Testament  contains  a 


very  copious  selection  of  really  parallel  passages,  being,  with  some  ad 
ditions,  the  same  as  are  found  in  the  English  Polyglot.  It  has  the 
various  readings  in  a  centre  column,  and  short  explanatory  notes,  that 
will  be  acceptable  to  a  numerous  class  of  readers— besides  5  maps  illus 
trative  of  the  holy  theatre  of  Christ's  and  his  apostles'  labors.  This 
multum  in  parro  book  is  ornamented  by  a  page  exhibiting  specimens 
of  48  different  languages. 

BARNES'  "SCRIPTURAL  ARGUMENT  OF  EPISCOPACY"  EX 
AMINED.  iSmo. 

BUTLER'S  ANALOGY  OF  RELIGION,  with  an  Essay  by  Rev.  A. 
BARNES.  Stereotype  edition.  12mo. 

ELEMENTS  OF  MENTAL  AND  MORAL  SCIENCE,  designed  to 
exhibit  the  Original  Susceptibilities  of  the  Mind,  and  the  Rules  by 
which  the  Rectitude  of  any  of  its  states  of  feeling  should  be  judged. 
By  GEORGE  PAYNE,  D.  D.  Second  American  edition,  in  one  volume, 
12mo. 

ZINZENDORFF,  A  NEW  ORIGINAL   POEM,  by  Mrs.  SIGOURNEY,  wit 
minor  Poems.    In  a  neat  12mo.  volume. 

LECTURES  ON  REVIVALS  OF  RELIGION.     By  Rev.  C.  G.  Fn 
NEY,  of  Chatham-street  Chapel,  New-York.    1  vol.  12mo. 

FOREIGN   CONSPIRACY   AGAINST   THE   UNITED   STATE* 
By  "  BRUTUS."    2d.  edition. 

JUDGE  JAY  ON  COLONIZATION  AND  ANTI- SLAVERY.  12rm 
2d.  edition. 

BIOGRAPHIA  LITERARIA,  or  Sketches  of  my  Literary  Life  and 
ions.    By  S.  T.  COLERIDGE.    New  edition.    8vo. 

NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  ENTHUSIASM,    4th  edition. 
SATURDAY  EVENING.    By  the  same  author.    4th  edition.    12mo. 
FANATICISM.    By  the  same  author. 
POLITICAL  DESPOTISM.    By  the  same.    Just  Published. 

HEBREW  GRAMMAR.    By  GEO.   BUSH,  Professor  of  Oriental  Lan 
guages  in  the  New- York  University. 

MOTHER'S  PRIMER,  to  teach  a  child  its  letters,  and  how  to  read.  By 
Rev.  T.  H.  GALLAUDET. 


LEAVITT,    LORD&CO.'S    LIST 

of  some  of  the  more  important 

STANDARD  WORKS, 

On  various  subjects,  which  may  always  be  obtained  at  the  lowest  prices. 


1.     COMMENTARIES 

On  the  whole  Scriptures, 

SCOTT,  in  6  volumes  or  3.          FAMILY  COMMENTARY,  1  volume. 
HENRY,  in  6  volumes  or  3.         COMPREHENSIVE  do. 
CLARKE,  in  6  volumes  or  3.      MANT  &  D'OYLEY,  2  volumes. 
GILL,  9  volumes  4to. 

On  the  New   Testament. 
BARNES'  NOTES  ON  THE  GOSPELS,  in  2  volumes. 

Do.  do.  ACTS,  in  1  volume. 

Do.  do.  ROMANS,  in  1  volume. 

BURKITT  ON  THE  NEW  TESTAMENT. 
DODDRIDGE'S  PARAPHRASE,  &c.  in  1  volume. 
MACKNIGHT  ON  THE  EPISTLES,  in  l  volume. 
STUART  ON  THE  HEBREWS,  in  1  volume. 

Do.        ON  THE  ROMANS,  in  1  volume. 
BLOOMFIELD'S  CRITICAL  DIGEST,  in  8  volumes. 


CALVIN, 
DE  WETTE, 
EICHORN, 
FLATT, 
GESENIUS, 


German  Authors. 

HEG3TENBERG, 

HUG, 

KUINOEL, 

KOPP, 

LUCKE. 


NEANDER, 
ROSENMUELLER, 
TITTMANN, 
THOLUCK. 


2.     THEOLOGY     AND     DIVINITY'. 

The  Complete  Works  of 


BARROW,  7  vols. 

FOSTER. 

LIGHTFOOT,  13  vols. 

BAXTER,  23  vols. 

FULLER,  2  vols. 

MASON,  4  vols. 

BERKELEY,  3  vols. 

GURNALL,  4  vols. 

NEWTON,  (Bp.)  1  vol. 

BEVERIDGE,  10  vols. 

HENRY,  1  vol. 

NEWTON,  (J.)  2  vols. 

BICKERSTETH,  1  vol. 

HERVEY,  6  vols. 

OWEN,  21  vols. 

BUTLER,  (Bp.)  1  vol. 

HOOKER. 

PALEY,  6  vols. 

BUNYAN,  1  vol. 

HORNE,  (Bp.)  1  vol. 

SECKER,  6  vols. 

CAMPBELL,  3  vols, 

HORNE,  (T.  H.)  4  vols. 

SMITH,  (J.  P.)  4  vols. 

CALMET,  1  vol. 

HALL,  (Bp.)  2  vols. 

SHERLOCK,  5  vols. 

DICK,  4  vols. 

HALL,  (Robt)  3  vols. 

SIMEON,  21  vols. 

DODDRIDGE,  1  vol. 

HORSELEY,  1  vol. 

TAYLOR,  (Jer.)  5  vols. 

DWIGHT,  4  vols. 

HOWE,  (Jno.)  1  vol. 

TOPLADY,  6  vols. 

EDWARDS,  10  vols. 

JAHN,  1  vol. 

WARBURTON. 

ERSKINE. 

JAY,  (Wm.)3vols. 

WARDLAW. 

FABER. 

LARDNER,  10  vols. 

WATTS. 

FLAVEL,  6  vols. 

LEIGHTON,  1  vol. 

Leavitt,  Lord,  <$-  Co's  Catalogue. 


3.  ETHICS,     MORALS,     ELOaUENCE,    &c. 

ABERCROMBIE,  COLERIDGE,  LOCKE, 

ALISON,  COMBE,  PAINE/ 

BACON,  DEWAR,  REID, 

BROWN,  DEGERANDO,  SPURZHEIM, 

BURKE,  DYMOND,  STEWART, 

BURTON,  GOOD,  WAYLAND 

4.     HISTORY. 

UNITED  STATES.— Bancroft's,  5  vols.—  Grahame's,  2  vols.— 
Holmes' s,  2  vols.— Pitkin,  2  vols.  8vo.— Ramsay,  3  vols.— 
Willards,  1  vol. 

ENGLAND.— Goldsmith— Hume,    Smollett,    fy  Miller,    4  vols.— 
Hallam,  3  vols.— Lingard,  12  vols. — Mackintosh,  1  vol.  8vo. 

SCOTLAND.— Scott,  2  vols.— Robertson,  1  vol. 

EUROPE,  (MODERN.)— Russell  $•  Jones,  3  vols.— Robertson's  Charles 
V.—Heeren's  Polit.  System,  2  vols.— Crowe's  France,  3  vols.— 
Sismondi's  Italy,  1  vol.—Grat(an's  Netherlands,  1  vol.— Fletch 
er's  Poland,  1  vol.— Mills' s  Chivalry  and  Crusades,  4  vols.— 
Venetian  History,  2  vols. — Florence,  2  vols. 

ANCIENT,  (UNIVERSAL.)— Rollin,  2  vols.,  4  vols.  or  8  vols.— 
Heeren,  1  vol. 

GREECE.— Gillies',  1  vol.— Frost,  1  vol.— Heeren,  I  vol.— 
Mitford,  8  vols. 

ROME. — Ferguson,  1  vol. — Hooke,  3  vols. — Liny,  (by  Ba 
ker,)  2  vols.—  Tacitus,  l  vol.— Gibbon's  Decline 
and  Fall,  l  vol.  or  4  vols. 

AFRICA.— Heeren,  2  vols. — ASIA.— Heeren,  3  vols. 
EGYPT.—  Russell,     18mo.— PALESTINE.— Russell,    18mo. 
THE  JEWs.—Millman,  3  vols. 

UNIVERSAL.— .Fros;,  1  vol.—Mullert  4  vols.—Robbins,  I  vol.-*... 

Tytler,    1  vol.—  Whelpley,  I  vol. 
ECCLESIASTICAL.— Goodrich,    (Elements,)    12mo. 

Marsh,  do.  12mo. 

Milner,  with  continuation,  1  vol.  8vo. 

Mosheim,  do.  3  vols.  or  2  vols. 

Waddington,       do.  1  vol. 

JBurnet's  Reformation  in  England,  4  vols. 

JSusebius's  Ecc.  Hist.  First  Six  Centuries,  1  vol. 

Scott's  Lutheran  Reformation,  2  vols.  18mo. 

Smedley's  Reformed  Religion  in  France. 

Winslow's  Sketch  of  Missions,  12  mo. 

History  of  Popery,  12mo.     Of  the  Inquisition,  I2mo. 


Leamtt,  Lord,  <$*  Co.'s.   Catalogue,. 


5.     BIOGRAPHY. 


ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT,  ISmo. 

BAXTER,  (Rev.  R.)  2  vols.  8vo. 

BELISARIUS,  12mo. 

BONAPARTE,  various. 

BURNS,  do. 

BYRON,  do. 

BURDER,  (Rev.  Geo.)  12mo. 

CABOT,  (Sebas.)  8vo. 

CHARLES  THE  FIRST,  2  vols. 

CHARLEMAGNE,  18mo. 

CHRISTMAS,  (Rev.  J.  S.)  J8mo. 

CLARKE,  (Adam,)  12mo. 

CLINTON,  (De  Witt,)  4to. 

COLEURN,  (Z.)  12mo. 

COLERIDGE,  (S.  T.)  8vo. 

COLUMBUS,  (C.)  2  vola.  8vo. 

CRANMER,  (Archb.)  2  vols.  18mo. 

CROMWELL,  (Oliver,)  2  vols.  18mo. 

CUV1ER,  (Baron,)  12mo. 

FEMALE  SOVEREIGNS,  2  vols.  18mo. 

FREDERICK  THE  GREAT,  2  vols.  18mo. 

GEORGE  IV.,  18mo. 

GRAHAM,  (Isabella,)  12mo. 

GRAHAM,  (Mary  Jane,)  12mo. 

HALL,  (Rev.  Robt.)  18mo. 

HAMILTON,  (Alex.)  8vo. 

HEBER,  (Bp.)  2  vols.  8vo. 

HENRY,  (Patrick,)  8vo. 

HILL,  (Rowland,)  12mo. 

HOWARD,  (John,)  18mo. 

INDIANS,  2  vols.  18mo. 

JAY,  (John,)  2  vols.  8vo. 

JOHNSON,  (Dr.)  2  vols.  8vo. 

JUDSON,  (Mrs.)  18mo. 

JOSEPHINE,  (Empress,)  18mo. 


LAFAYETTE,  2  vols.  18mo. 

LEO  THE  TENTH,  4  vols.  8vo. 

LORENZO  DE  MEDICI,  2  vols.  8vo 

MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS,  2  vols.  18mo. 

MARTYN,  (Henry,)  I2mo. 

MARION,  (Gen.)  12mo. 

MILTON,  (John,)  12mo. 

MOHAMMED,  (by  Bush,)  Ifiino. 

MORE,  (Hannah,)  2  vols.  12mo. 

MORRIS,  (Governeur,)  3  vols.  8vo. 

NAVIGATORS,  (early,)  18mo. 

NELSON,  (Lord.)  18mo. 

NEWTON,  (Sir  Isaac,)  18mo. 

NEY,  (Marshal,)  ISmo. 

PAGE,  (Harlan,)  18mo. 

PAINTERS  AND  SCULPTORS,  3  v.  18mo. 

PAYSON,  (Rev.  Dr.)  12mo. 

PETER  THE  GREAT,  18mo. 

PLUTARCH'S  LIVES,  8vo. 

ROSCOE,  (Wm.)  2  vols.  12mo. 

SCHILLER,  (Fred.)  12mo. 

SCOTT,  (Sir  W.) 

SIDDONS,  (Mrs.)  12mo. 

TAYLOR,  (J.  B.)  12mo. 

THORBURN,  (Grant,)  12mo. 

TRAVELLERS,  (celebrated,)  3  vols.  18mo. 

WASHINGTON,  (George,)  2  vols.  Svo. 

WELLINGTON,  (Duke  of,)  2  vols.  12mo. 

WESLEY,  (Rev.  J.)  12mo. 

WICLIF,  (John,)  18mo. 

W1NSLOW,  (Mrs.  M.)  12mo. 

WILLIAMS,  (Roger,)  12mo. 

WOMEN,  (celebrated,)  2  vols.  12mo. 

WONDERFUL  CHARACTERS,  Svo. 


6.     VOYAGES   AND   TRAVELS. 


African  Adventures,  &c. 
Anderson,  in  Greece,  12mo. 
Bigelow,  in  Malta,  &c.  Svo. 
Carter,  in  Europe,  2  vols. 
Cook's  Voyages,  2  vols. 
Coxe,  on  Columbia  River,  Svo. 
D'Hauzes,  in  Great  Britain,  I2mo. 
Dwight,  in  New  England,  4  vols. 
Ellis,  in  Polynesiat  4  vols. 
Fanning,  round  the  World,  1  vol. 
Gutzlaff,  in  China,  1  vol. 
Hamilton,  in  United  States,  2  vols. 


Henderson,  in  Iceland,  12mo. 
Humboldt,  in  S.  America,  &c.  ISmo. 
Jameson,  in  Italy  and  Germany,  2  v. 
Kay,  in  Caffraria,  &c.  12mo. 
Lander,  in  Africa,  2  vols. 
Modern  Traveller,  10  vols. 
Morrell,  round  the  World,  Svo. 
Pardoe,  in  Portugal,  2  vols. 
Owen,  in  Africa,  2  vols. 
Polar  Seas  and  Regions,  ISmo. 
Rush's  Residence  at  London,  Svo. 
Stewart,  in  South  Seas,  2  vols. 


Lcavitt,  Lord,  fy  Co.'s  Catalogue. 


Stewart,  in  Great  Britain,  2  vols.     Wines'  Naval  Sketches,  2  vols. 
Visit  to  Texas.  Willard's  France  and  Great  Brit 

Walsh,  in  Brazil,  2  vols. 

7.     SCIENCES  AND  ARTS. 

NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY.— Arnotfs  Physics,  2  vols.—  Cavallo's  Philc 
1  vol. — Library  U.  K.  Treatise,  2  vols.—  Olmsted,  2  vols. 

CHEMISTRY.— Grande,  2  vols.  8vo.— Eaton,  I2mo.-- Mitchell,  8vo. — 
Porter,  2  vols.  8vo.—Silliman,    2   vols.    8vo.—  Turner,  12mo.- 
Webstcr,  8vo. 

MEDICINE.— Bell,    JBroussais,    Brigham,    Cloquet,     Combe,    Cooper, 

Doane,  Dunglisson,  Dewees,  Eberle,  Good,  Halsted,  Hitchcock, 
Hooper,  Macnish,  Magendie,  Paris,  Richerand,  Spurzhdm, 
&c.  &c. 

NATURAL  HISTORY. — Buffon,  5  vols.— Cuvier,   4  vols.—  Godman,  3 
vols. — Goldsmith,  4  vols. — Nutall,  (Ornithol.)  2  vols.— Smellie, 
1  vol. 

BOTANY.— Comstock,   Eaton,  Lindley,   Lincoln,    Torrey. 

ARCHITECTURE.— Benjamin,   La  Fevre,  Nicholson,    Shaw. 


8.     POETRY. 

Adams,     Aikin,     Addison,     Baillie,   (Joanna,)  1  vol. — Bloomfield^ 
Bowles,     Beattie,     Bryant,  1  vol. — Burns,  1   vol.— Butler,     Brooks, 
Byron,     Campbell,  I  vol.—  Child,  (Mrs.)     Cheever,     Coleridge,  3  vols. 
Cowper,  1  vol.— Crabbe,  8  vols. —  Collins,     Davidson,  (L.  M.)  1  vol. — 
Dryden,     Falconer,     Gay,     Gray,     Goldsmith,     Halleck,     Heber, 
Hemans,     Hogg,     Hoole,     Keats,     Mellen,  (Grenville,)     Millman, 
Milton,    Montgomery,    Moore,     Norton,  (Mrs.)    Percival,     Pollok, 
Pope,     Rogers,     Shenstone,     Somerville,     Scott,     Southey, 
Shakspeare,     Shelley,     Tappan,     Thomson,      White,     Willis, 
Woodworth,     Wordsworth,     Young. 


9.     EDUCATION. 

GENERAL  TREATISES.— Abbott,    Alcott,    Am.  Inst.  Lectures, 

Babington,     Dwight,     Edge-worth,     Hall,     Hamilton,     Mitchill, 
Phelps,     Simpson,     Taylor,     Wood. 

SPELLING  BOOKS. —  Cobb,     Cummings,    Emerson,     Parley,     Picket, 
Sears,     Webster,     Worcester. 


Leavitt,  Lord,  fy  Go's  Catalogue. 


CLASSICAL  STUDIES. 

LATIN   GRAMMAR.— Adams,    Patterson,    Ross,    Ruddimann. 

READER.— Jacobs,     Walker. 

LEXICON. — Ainsworth,   18moM  8vo.,   royal  8vo. 

CLASSICS,  (with  notes,)—  Caesar,     Cicero,      C.  Nepos, 

Erasmus,— Horace,     Liny,     Ovid,     Sallust,     Tacitus, 
Virgil.— Also,  Leipsic  and  London  editions  of  others. 
GREEK  GRAMMAR.—  Buttman,    Fiske,     Goodrich,      Valpy. 

READER. — Jacobs. — LEXICON. — Donnegan,     Groves. 

CLASSICS,  (with  notes.)— ^Eschylus,  Demosthenes, 

Herodotus,  Homer,  Plato,    Thucydides,   Xenophon, 
and  Leipsic  and  London  editions  of  the  whole. 
FRENCH  GRAMMAR.— Bccuf,    Lcvizac,    Perrin,     Surrault, 
Wanostrocht. 

LEXICON.— Boyer,    Meadows,    Nugent,     Wilson. 

ELEMENTARY.— Bolmar,    Longfellow,    Perrin,    &c. 

SPANISH  GRAMMAR. —  Cubi,    Josse,   Sales. 

LEXICON. — Newman. 

ITALIAN  GRAMMAR.— Bachi. — LEXICON.— Baretti. 
GERMAN  GRAMMAR. — Bernay,  Follcn.— READER. — Ibid. 
HEBREW  GRAMMAR.— Bush,   Frey,  Seixas,  Stuart,  Stowe. 

LEXICON. —  Gesenius,  Gibbs,  Parkhurst,  Robinson. 

10.     MISCELLANIES. 

ENCYCLOPAEDIA.— Americana,  13  vols. — Britannica,  Edinburgh, 

20  vols.— Metropolitana,  3  vols. 
FICTION.— Buhcer,  Cooper,  Edgeworth,  Fielding,  Gait,  Godwin, 

Irving,  James,  Mackenzie,  Paulding  Porter, 

Richardson,   Sherwood,  Simms,  Sedgwick, 

Scott,  &c.  &c. 

LIBRARIES  AND  COLLECTIONS. — Harper's  Family  Library, 

Theological,  Juvenile,  Classical,  Dramatic.— Gardner's 
Cabinet  Cyclopaedia,— lore's  English  Classics, 
Constable's  Miscellany,    Religious  Library, 
Select  do.,  &c. 

The  above  forms  part  of  the  outline  of  a  new  and  extensive  Cata 
logue  of  Books  now  to  be  obtained  in  the.  United  States,  preparing  by 
Leavitt,  Lord,  &  Co. 


Leavilt,  Lord,  fy  C0.'s  Catalogue. 

READING  BOOKS,  (Elementary.)— Am.  Pop.  Lessons,  Child's  Instr. 
Cobb,  No.  1,  2  and  3.—  Colburn,    Emerson,    Hall,     Pierpont, 
Putnam. 

(Advanced.)— Angel,    Bailey,    (Young  Ladies',) 

Emerson,  (G.  B.)    Emerson,  (B.  D.)     Pierpont,     Porter, 

Putnam,     Sullivan,     Worcester. 

ELOCUTION. — Barber,     Emerson,    Lovell,     Putnam,     Porter,    Russell 
GRAMMAR.— Brown,     Greenleaf,    Hall,     Ingersoll,    Kirkham, 

Murray,    Parker,     Smith,     Van  Doren,     Webster. 
RHETORIC. — Blair,    Jamieson,    Mills,     Whately. 
LOGIC. — Hedge,    Jamieson,     Whately. 
DICTIONARY. — Cobb,     Grimshaw,     Walker,     Webster. 
GEOGRAPHY. — Adams,     Blake,     Beecher,     Cummings,     Clute, 

Fowle,     Goodrich,  (3  kinds,)    Hall,     Olney,     Parley,     Willett, 

Willard,     Woodbridge,     Worcester. 

HISTORY. — Davenport,     Goodrich,     Grimshaw,    Hale,    Parley, 
Webster,  and   Willard's  UNITED  STATES. 

Goldsmith,     Grimshaw,     Pinnock,    and  Rob  bins' 's  ENGLAND. 

Grimshaw's  FRANCE. — Parley's  EUROPE. 

frost,  Grimshaw,  Peabody,  and  Robbins's  GREECE. 

Grimshaw,   and  Parley's  ROME.— Parley's  ANCIENT  generally. 

Frost,  Robbins,   Tytler,    Wells,    Whelpley,    Worcester's  UNIVEH. 
CHRONOLOGY.— Blair,  Putnam.    MYTHOLOGY. — Dillaway,  Moritz, 

Robbins,     Tooke. 

NATURAL  PHILOSOPHY. — Blake,  Blair,  Comstock,  Grund,  Jones. 
CHEMISTRY. — Beck,  Comstock,  Grund,  Jones,  Lincoln,  Turner. 
MINERALOGY.— Comstock,  Shepherd. 

BOTANY. — Blake,     Comstock,    Eaton,    Lindlcy,    Lincoln,     Torrey. 
ASTRONOMY.— Blake,     Burritt,     Grund,     Guy,     Ostrander,     Wilbur, 
Wilkins. 

ARITHMETIC.— Adams,    Babcock,    Cobb,    Colburnt  (2,)   Daboll,   Davis 

Dames,     Emerson,  (3,)     Hall,     Parker,     Smith,    Smiley. 
BOOK-KEEPING.— Bennett,    Edwards,     Goddard,    Marsh,    Preston. 
MATHEMATICS.— Cambridge  Course,    Day,    Hutton,     Young. 

ALGEBRA. — Bonnycastle,    Bourdon,    Bridge,     Colburn,    Day, 
Danies,     Euler,     Grund,    Ryan,     Young. 

GEOMETRY.— Euclid,  (Playfair,  Simpson,)     Grund,    Legendre. 

MECHANICS.—  Bouchalart,    Farrar,    Renwick,     Young. 

MENSURATION.— Bonnycastle,    Day. 

SURVEYING. — Davies,    Day,    Flint. 

CALCULUS. — Farrar,    Ryan,     Young. 


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